


Rain Upon the Ashes

by the_irish_mayhem



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, BAMF Jane Foster, Based on a Tumblr Post, Epic, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous use of horses, Lots of epic questing, Male-Female Friendship, Romance, Violence, War, and lots of medievalness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_irish_mayhem/pseuds/the_irish_mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ancient evil threatens Yggdrasil. An illegitimate heir sits upon the throne of Asgard, and an unknown menace seeks to destroy the Royal Family. Thor Odinson, true heir to the throne and banished years before, emerges as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, further endangering his family. Known publicly only as the Raven, Jane Foster, once a high-born Lady of Midgard, finds herself fighting a war when she once only desired to see the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Earth

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [beautiful gifsets](http://runakvaed.tumblr.com/post/67876486384/thor-jane-medieval-au-tell-me-why) by the wonderful [runakvaed](runakvaed.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Since we're reading on AO3, you'll sometimes see the gifs integrated into the text. Fun!
> 
> Come find me and scream about this AU on my tumblr at [the-irish-mayhem](the-irish-mayhem.tumblr.com).
> 
> Without further ado...
> 
> cover art by [runakvaed](runakvaed.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

_From the ashes_

_She rises as she falls_

_Long live the queen_

* * *

**Chapter I. Rain Upon the Earth**

Jane really needed to stop getting herself into these situations.

Really.

An arrow flew past her head, nearly shearing the hood that protected her identity. Her hand shot up reflexively to make sure the scarf covering her face was still in place.

When she found it tight and secure across everything except her eyes, her hand returned to her reins. She loosened them some more, giving Gísl her head. The large blood bay, near black, horse stretched out her neck as far as she could, but Jane still had to hold her in check. The forest floor was riddled with debris, and avoiding the obstacles wouldn't be easy at a full gallop. The horse and rider slalomed through the trees, doing their best to make is as difficult as possible for the Queen's forces to shoot at her, and even harder for the capitol-trained horses to catch up in such a difficult environment.

Jane saw a break in the trees ahead and swore loudly. A mostly flat prairie was before her, and grass only tall enough to conceal Gísl up to her chest. Changing direction would do her no good, as another scan of the area revealed the trees thinning substantially on both of her sides. No cover in whatever direction she went. Betting on Gísl's speed, Jane decided that straight ahead would be the only option.

As they drew upon the prairie, Jane spotted the forest continuing on the other side, just over a hundred yards off. Jane grinned, her mood reversing. "It's time to let loose, love," she said to her horse over the wind rushing past them. The moment they hit the prairie, Jane let the reins slide through her fingers, letting Gísl have as much slack as she could safely give her.

One reason Jane knew that she kept evading the Queen's Army was because of her horse. Gísl was fast and agile, and her huge presence was uncommon for a filly but an enormous advantage when encountering soldiers on foot.

Although,  _fast_  always seemed to be an understatement when her magnificent horse opened up. After letting out a little buck at the sheer joy of just being able to run, Gísl settled into a smooth, ground-eating gallop. Jane sat forward in the saddle, pushing her heels further down and gripping the saddle with her thighs. Her hands tangled in Gísl's black mane as Jane's torso settled low over the horse's neck. Her large, bounding strides quickly put distance between the pair and their pursuers.

However fast Gísl was, it appeared it wouldn't be fast enough to simply outrun her pursuers as their shouts grew clearer without the obstruction afforded by the forest.

_Aim for the horse!_

_For the Queen!_

_For Asgard!_

Jane didn't see them, but she could hear arrows slicing through the air around them, dangerously close. The grass was steadily getting shorter as they neared the end of the clearing, giving them less and less coverage until everything except Gísl's fetlocks were exposed.

An arrow ripped through her cloak, just barely missing her side and falling to the ground beneath Gísl's churning hooves. She couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath that followed, and her sense of urgency amplified tenfold.

 _C'mon, just a little further,_  Jane mentally urged, her heart in her throat. They were so close, just a few seconds and they'd be back under the cover of the trees.

Jane felt her heart plummet from her throat to her feet when she saw a group of foot soldiers emerge from the trees she was so desperately running towards. They had several bowmen whose arrows were pointed in her direction.

So this was it. This was where her life finally ended. She couldn't help but be disappointed; she had so much to  _do_  and she would never finish it. And then there was the fear, gouging into her with its icy claws, but she'd gotten very good at ignoring that.

She kept her eyes wide open, for some reason not wanting to miss the shot that would kill her-not wanting to miss the chance to look her killer in the eye. She waited for the shot to pierce her, end it in pain and blood, but it never came.

The arrows didn't fly into her-they were flying  _around_  her.

Then there came agonized shouts from the army men who pursued her. A quick check over her shoulder revealed men being shot off their horses, bodies falling into obscurity in the tall grasses.

She didn't know who these impromptu saviors were, but they were obviously against the Queen's Army and she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She also didn't plan on sticking around to thank them.

She was about to urge Gísl through the line of men when a massive, jet black horse mounted by an equally impressively-sized man stepped from the shadows of the forest right in her path.

She didn't much like the idea of colliding with that horse, and while Gísl had impressive agility, they didn't have time to change direction and continue running (not to mention that it would put them in the direct path of the bowmen who could accidentally land a hit.) The only way to avoid it would be to come to a complete stop. Jane sat back in the saddle, sitting deeply and behind their momentum, gathered up the slack once more, regaining tight contact with the bit, and sawed the reins back and forth to stop the charging filly. She half-feared for a moment the high-spirited Gísl would seize the bit in her teeth and continue running headlong into the other horse.

Instead, her horse emitted a scream that terrified Jane to the core because she knew that it meant  _injury_  and a bad one at that. And Gísl didn't stop- she kept trying to run even though Jane could feel something was terribly wrong. It was one of her hind legs, but before she could decipher which one it was, they were falling. It wasn't sudden or neat-Gísl's back legs gave out before anything else, and her back end dragged the rest of her down. Jane kept enough presence of mind to kick free of the stirrups and push away from the falling horse.

Gísl's body hit the ground first, a heavy thud that struck with a finality that made Jane sick. She nearly  _was_  sick when she herself landed with a loud grunt a split second later, being sure to land on her hip and roll with the momentum, ending up facedown with a mouth full of grass. Despite her mostly correct landing, pain rippled outwards from when she landed, but it was nowhere near as serious as the injury she knew Gísl had acquired.

The cries of her initial pursuers had gone quiet, and now Jane was aware of being encircled and surrounded by whoever these people were. Looking up from where she lay, she determined they certainly weren't Queen's Army. Their armor was mismatched, and some didn't even wear any, and none of them bore Hela's crest. The only thing they had in common was a red cuff somewhere on their arms- for some it was a red cloth tied around a bicep, and for others a thick ribbon tied around their wrists. The only one who didn't have any red on his person was the man on the horse.

Jane could tell he was tall-even seated on his horse, she could tell he would make an imposing figure. Despite his rather ruddy appearance, with dark hair and unshaven face, his features were startlingly handsome; she didn't take the time to appreciate them given her current circumstances. She also couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him before.

Heedless of their presence but still hyper-aware of it, she crawled over to Gísl, doing her best not to sob at the pained squeals coming from her. Her legs flailed against the ground, kicking up clots of dirt and spreading small amounts of blood from a yet unknown source. Jane whispered sweet nothings trying to keep her from thrashing. Still obviously terrified, but reassured by her partner's presence, Gísl stilled. Her sides heaved in exertion, and Jane ran a calming hand along the filly's sweaty neck. Her eyes searched quickly for the source of the injury, finding it fairly quickly. One of the Queen's Army men must've landed a shot, as an arrow stuck out of the flesh above Gísl's hind left hock.

"Step away from your horse and keep your hands where we can see them," the man on the horse commanded. His voice sounded like that of a leader.

Her eyes moved from her horse, carefully noting each soldier with their weapons pointed at her. Her bow was strung around her torso beneath her cloak. It wouldn't take her very long to whip it off and start firing, but it would be suicidal with the number of opponents she faced. So Jane didn't have much of a choice. Cooperate or die. Lovely.

Gísl began to move her legs, showing the early signs of another panicked thrashing. "It's going to be okay, love, just please don't move," Jane pleaded to Gísl again, not making a move to stand.

He repeated his command, "I said stand and keep your hands up."

"I'll stand if you agree to help my horse," she bargained, meeting his eyes, her tone conveying more confidence than she felt at the moment. She didn't find any compassion in his blue eyes, and fear began to work itself into her once again.

The tall man dismounted, the ease of the action belying his size, and indicated a great amount of time spent on horseback. "If you hadn't noticed, you are in no position to be giving orders."

"I'll give you orders whether you bloody like it or not!"

That seemed to amuse him. He made a motion with his hand, his slow pace bringing him closer to her. "Off with the hood and the scarf. And give me your name while you're at it."

Instead of fulfilling both wishes, she answered, "I'm the Raven." She kept her eyes solidly focused on the huge, dark-haired man who was about seven feet away from her now, but made no move to stand yet.

With her words, whispers exploded among the men surrounding her. The scarf across her face hid her smile. Her reputation often preceded her.

"The Raven, you say?" The leader walked ever closer to her, and she remained tensed. His eyes became less guarded, she noted. "I've heard you have a message for me."

Suddenly, recognition dawned on her. This is exactly who she'd meant to find and Jane couldn't believe she'd just run into him, but with her horse groaning behind her, she didn't feel very fortuitous. "Then you've heard correctly, Thor Odinson." She stood finally, turning fully towards him.

No longer fearing for the safety of her identity, ( _He can be trusted, Jane_ ) she pulled off her hood and pulled down the scarf obscuring the rest of her face.

The first thing she heard from the men surrounding her: "Bloody hell, she's a woman!"

"The Raven ain't no woman!"

Passion blazed within her as she stood and turned towards the speakers. Jane tilted her head as she studied them, a plan quickly formulating in her mind. Quick as a blink, and much faster than anyone could stop her, she removed her bow, snagging an arrow from her quiver as she went. Nocking it and drawing it back in a single motion, Jane fired. Several of the men had gasped in shock, and fumbled with their weapons to take her down at what Jane saw as a glacial pace.

The second one who spoke, the one who attributed her skill to manhood, found his arrow shattered, knocked from the bow. In the next second, Jane had fired another arrow and he found the floppy cap on his head gone.

She kept herself low to the ground in case anyone was thinking of trying to fire at her. She noticed that Thor's only reaction to her was to be amused, his lips curling in a smile. She found her own drawn into a similar action.

"What's this now about the Raven not being a woman?"

* * *

**12 Months Earlier**

Shadows crept along the palace walls as though they were entities of the shifting moonlight. They seemed to warp and bend as if under control around a singular figure, features disguised under a green cloak.

Another figure cut through the shadows. This cloak was white and sheer, and the sharp, blue features of an Ice Elven woman could be seen through the glittering fabric.

When they met in the middle of the dark, deserted hall, the figure in green spoke first. "Is the deed done?"

The elf said in reply, "Yes. She is gone. The dark son went unawares. He will wake to his mother's blood."

"Good work, Elphane. You will be richly rewarded for your service."

Elphane's answering smile was greedy. "Will this be a traditional reward or something perhaps-" she moved towards the figure, blatant seduction in her voice and posture, "more mutually pleasurable?"

The green-swathed figure stepped forward, an obvious participant in the game they played. "While that sounds like an excellent plan," it said quietly, roughly, "I cannot dally this night. Traditional payment it will have to be."

Elphane only looked disappointed for a moment. "I cannot find it in myself to complain about that. Do you require my...  _true_  services further this night?"

The green figure shook its head. "No. You have done well and may return home. I will send for you soon. Long live the queen."

Elphane concluded in farewell, "Long live the queen."

* * *

It was in a town square in Vanaheim that his life truly fell to pieces.

If he'd once thought that his banishment would be the end of him...

A message runner, rare nowadays but still used for major events, galloped into town upon a small stallion. He shouted, "I bring news! News from Asgard! News from the capitol!" The horse and rider came to a halt in the middle of the town square. The horse's nostrils flared for breath, sweat coating his chest and flanks. His teeth worked the bit in his mouth, foam dripping from his lips. "Someone care for the horse!" called the messenger, and a few of the townsfolk scurried to fetch water for drink and sheepskins to rub him down.

Those in the square gathered around like moth to the flame, all but he, the one man who stalked behind the crowds leading a magnificent black horse away from the spectacle and towards the road that would lead out of the town. "I bring dire news from Asgard. On the tail of losing so many of the Royal Family, it is with a heavy heart that I tell you the Fourth Family has fallen."

His world shuddered to a halt.

He turned towards the commotion, and his voice carried across the distance, "What of the Fourth Family? What happened?" He walked closer to the messenger, his large horse making the people part for him; Sleipnir was an imposing presence, always had been.

The messenger finds who asked the question. "Princess Frigga is dead. We hope and pray that she has joined her husband, the late Prince Odin, in Valhalla." Murmurs rippled through the gathered people, terrified whispers and conspiracy theories began circling, among the reverent chants of 'May they rest in peace.' Trying to regain control, the messenger followed with, "The Queen has assured the people it was natural causes that led to this tragic fate."

He bristled.  _Because anything the Queen says is the absolute truth._

"What of the Princess's son?" he asked urgently. His heart was beating quickly in his chest and his blood rushed loudly in his ears.

A laugh rippled through those gathered. "Surely you've known Prince Thor has been banished for years!" answered the messenger with mirth, now dismounting his horse.

"I meant the other son," he replied darkly.  _Must they always insist on forgetting him._

The messenger didn't look concerned. "His condition was not a part of my message."

Not a part of the message. Forgotten like he didn't matter.

Never in his life had Thor been so afraid.

* * *

Jane Foster had been greatly confused by many things in her lifetime - her first studies of the stars, the first time she sighted the Aurora, men, why her mother had kept insisting she  _not_  take that tone with her suitors - but none as profoundly as this dress.

"Do the people of Asgard insist that brides be unable to breathe?" Jane ground out in frustration as the two lady's-maids behind her tightened the corset further than the one trapped inside had ever thought possible.

"Dear, this dress style is at the height of fashion right now!" her mother scolded. Jane rolled her eyes, her back to the eldest female Foster. How in the world was she supposed to know that? "While you have a pleasing waistline,  _you_  can never have too much help," her mother intoned pointedly.

"Yes, you so enjoy reminding me that you had to practically beg Lord to take me as his wife," she said, now mock-imitating her mother's voice. "Heaven forbid that Laurel Foster's daughter marry a commoner. No, I must go to the capitol and find a lord of high standing, good breeding, and sleep-inducing conversation to take my daughter off my hands."

"That's quite enough lip from you, young lady." Her mother came to stand next to the seamstress, watching the lady's-maids try to suffocate her. Laurel continued, "You're lucky I am so close to Lady Heather. Otherwise, you would never have even met -"

"And what a tragedy that would have been," Jane mumbled, panicking a little when her ribcage wouldn't expand for another breath.

"-and you are lucky that such a fine man is willing to put up with you and your moods," Laurel finished, acting as though she hadn't heard Jane.

Jane snorted the best she could, since the corset was next to strangling her. "My sincerest apology if my opinions are considered moods. Last I was aware, I was just as smart as any man. Smarter even." The maids began dragging the dress up her body, sheathing her in heavy lace and silk.

As they laced up the back of the dress, Jane refused to look at herself in the mirror in front of her. She knew the image she saw would make her feel at least twice as suffocated as the corset did. She kept her gaze securely on her right hand, fisted at her side.

Laurel made a frustrated sound. "That is the kind of talk that will drive a husband from you like a horse's tail drives the fly." She studied her daughter with a critical eye, now fully dressed in what she would wear on her wedding day minus the extra trappings of the veil, and turned to the seamstress. "I'd like you to take it in another two inches."

Jane's face flicked to where her mother stood with fire in her eyes. "What? No! It's fine!" Her arms closed protectively around herself as if she could shield herself from her mother's machinations.

"It may be fine right now, but sweetling, have you seen the other women who have vied for 's affections? Women of Asgard are so much thinner and prettier than woman of Midgard! You must work to keep up!"

Jane swallowed back the angry tears that just begged to come out, but she remained silent, and her eyes returned to her fist.

* * *

Hours later, dress and corset long gone, Jane reveled in the feel of her vest, pants, and boots rather than the confining clothes of a Court Lady, and perhaps best of all, her bow in her hands. The bowstring humming with tension against her calloused fingertips always helped calm her. The snick of an arrow being nocked, the twang and whistle of the release and seeing the head buried in the target did more for her nerves than almost anything.

However, it didn't always negate the need to just yell.

"I just can't believe her!" Jane nearly shouted as she loosed another arrow, striking the center of one of the several targets on a tree some thirty feet away from her.

"Yes, I've always known that your mom's a little insane, but that's roughly ten miles past too far," Darcy sympathized. While her bow might be a good outlet for her anger, her best friend was the best outlet for her frustration.

Jane was grateful for the younger woman's company and counsel. They'd met each other when they were young, before Jane's father had begun to travel so much and before her mother had condemned her study of the stars. Jane, barely out of her childhood, had been attempting to build a device that would allow her to examine the stars, to see them closer; it was to be much like seeing an ordinary item with a magnifying glass. Jane told everyone what she was doing much to her mother's horror and embarrassment. Darcy Lewis was the first (and only) one to say how incredible that was and asked how she could help. They had been inseparable ever since. Even though Jane didn't get the scope working well until her late teens, Darcy had been at her side the entire time.

Jane's family really didn't approve of their friendship- Jane was technically born a Court Lady, but living in Midgard made them rather far removed from the actual Royal Court of Asgard. Jane didn't even want the title and tried to forget about it most days. Meanwhile, Darcy came from a respected family of farming peasants. Despite her mother's meddling, Jane had never found the class divisions off-putting. In fact, she loved going down to the valley, to the Lowtown with the rest of the farmers, blacksmiths, grocers, and shopkeeps and spending her time there rather than with the rest of the 'high-borns.' In the Lowtown, the parties were always rowdy and fun, with flowing ale and good spirits. Parties with those her mother deemed 'proper' were always stifling affairs, with an undercurrent of tension because everyone had secrets to keep and backs to stab.

"She keeps going on and on about Asgard's women being so thin and how will be expecting me to be 'Asgard thin.' That's what Laurel calls it. More like skin and bones to me. I mean, I look... okay, right?" Jane appealed to Darcy.

Nodding vigorously, "Oh yeah. Seven shades of heaven, that body. Also your face is made of sunshine."

Jane laughed at Darcy's words. After remaining silent for a beat, she said, half-joking and half-serious, "I'm jealous of your life."

Darcy shrugged as another arrow left Jane's bow. "I would be too. My mother isn't crazy like yours, I haven't gotten typhus yet like everyone else, and Ian is fantastically subservient." Ian, of course, was Darcy's husband. They were wed last spring and were 'still in the honeymoon phase' according to Darcy. Jane had cried at the wedding and thrown flower petals on the happy couple. It had been one of the best days of Jane's life, watching her best friend so happy.

Jane smiled, laughing again. The action felt good; she didn't do either nearly enough anymore. "You got one of the good ones, Darce."

A silence descended upon them. Neither liked to acknowledge Jane's impending marriage, as it was a great deal more serious than Jane having to lose a few more pounds just to please a man she had no desire to be in the company of, let alone marry.

"So how 'bout that Rebellion, eh?" Darcy segued, obviously not wanting to dwell on the things unsaid.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Doomed to fail, probably. The way the army's growing, they'll probably have them rooted out in a matter of months." That seemed to make Darcy go quiet for a few moments. Jane moved her eyes from the targets riddled with arrows to her friend. Her face was reticent, contemplative and worried in a way Jane rarely saw. "What is it, Darce?"

Darcy licked her lips before nearly forcing out, "You remember Khal, yeah?"

Jane lowered her bow, turning bodily to Darcy now. "Yeah. He and Tamara just had a baby girl, right?"

She nodded. "He's missing," she managed.

With that, Jane dropped her bow on the ground, rushing to Darcy's side and dropping to her knees. She didn't really know how to respond, "Are... are you sure?" Of all the ridiculous things she could've said...

But Darcy didn't seem bothered. "Tam said he got up this morning to feed the pigs. That shouldn't take long, right? So Tam heads out to look for him. The pigs weren't fed, and Khal was nowhere to be found. She's getting scared, Jane, and Tam doesn't scare easily."

Swallowing heavily, Jane made herself more comfortable on the grass next to Darcy. "How many people is that now?"

"Seven. Everyone has their theories. Ian... Ian said he thinks its the queen."

Jane stiffened. It wasn't as if she hadn't heard the rumors. And despite the efforts of the high-borns, no one quite forgot exactly how Queen Hela came to power. "Be... be careful with what you say Darcy."

"Who's going to hear us out here? Man, that tree stump looks awfully like a Queensagent, don't you think?"

"It doesn't matter if there's a Queensagent!" Jane snapped. "Talk like that gets you taken or worse. You have to be careful."

"Yet it doesn't seem to matter if we're careful, does it? You don't live in the Lowtown, Jane, and god knows I love you to death for adopting us, but you don't  _know_  what it's like for us. People are scared to take a single breath because it might mean they get arrested."  _Or publicly flogged. Or executed._  Those last two always went unsaid.

Darcy was right in some regard. Jane, while held in high esteem with a good number of them, wasn't a born Lowtowner. She lived on the Valley Rim with the rest of the high-borns, and despite everything she wished, she was still technically one of them.

The lavish parties thrown saw Jane stepping into horribly uncomfortable ball gowns, putting on a mask of complacency and idiocy and doing her best to not piss off her mother. She'd gotten worse at those things as she grew older and less patient with the way she was treated. What she was afforded at these functions was a different perspective of the Queen's regime. "I know. Living on the Rim is different-everyone says they adore Hela, but half of the things these people say are outright lies. They're constantly lying and manipulating for social status, and what better way to weasel their way into the capitol Court than lavish praise on the Queen whenever there's a Queensagent in earshot. And the Queensagents are crawling all over the Rim,  _constantly_. It's a nightmare." Jane sagged towards the ground, feeling heavier after getting that off her chest rather than lighter. "If the Rebellion is going to succeed, they've got a hell of a job ahead of them."

Darcy smiled wistfully. "Even if they don't make any sort of impact... at least it's making people think, making them open their eyes." She paused for a beat. "Makes you wonder... wonder if maybe things won't always have to be the way they are, you know? That maybe it wouldn't be so impossible to stand up and say no."

Jane finally sat down next to Darcy, sighing. "Maybe." She turned to her friend, humor on her face, eager to shake the solemn attitude that had descended. "It's not like I'll be doing any fighting, right?"

Her joke did the trick, and Darcy smiled, chuckling. "You might be good with your bow, but yeah, you couldn't hurt a fly."


	2. The Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late posting. I cannot adequately express how busy I've been.  
> Anyway. Onwards and upwards!

_She kept herself low to the ground in case anyone was thinking of trying to fire at her. She noticed that Thor's only reaction to her was to be amused, his lips curling in a smile. She found her own drawn into a similar action._

_"What's this now about the Raven not being a woman?"_

"At ease, men. She is no threat if you refrain from insulting her," Thor called out. A few of the men looked uncertain before lowering their bows and swords.

The one who was now hatless didn't look so keen. "Not a threat? She coulda taken off my head!"

Jane's heated glare turned back towards him. "Would you still like me to?"

Thor stepped between the two, hands raised in an obvious gesture for peace. "Both of you, stop it. Clig," he said, focusing his attention on Hatless, apparently named Clig, "do yourself a favor and stop talking before she takes off something more precious than your head."

It obviously took Clig a few moments to understand to what Thor was referring. It was hard to miss when he finally caught on, his face going white and his hands fumbling in his haste to put his bow away. Jane had to smother a grin.

"Now that that's all settled," Thor muttered in annoyance, before refocusing on Jane. "We need to get you back to base camp. I have several others who will want to have words with you. Now," he turned to Gísl, who lay quietly but was still breathing rather hard, "what do you want to do with your horse?"

For the second time that day, Jane was surprised. Surprises were something Hawkeye had taught her how to avoid, so two in a day was something else.

"I didn't expect you to give me a choice," she said, voice a bit bleak. She didn't know the extent of Gísl's injury, didn't even know if the filly would be able to walk, let alone recover if given the chance. She swallowed heavily, remembering her mentor's final words to her. _Take care of that horse, Jane. Now you need to run. Go! I'll hold them off._ Despite the time that had passed, she still heard them in her head like a punishing cadence. "I want to try to help her. I can't just give up on her."

Thor seemed to understand, marking the arrival of surprise number three. She'd expected him to fight her on it, say that they couldn't afford the delay nor the likely arduous recovery process that would be involved with such an injury. She saw his eyes flick over to his own horse, the huge black with the feathered feet who possessed scars big and small across his body. "Okay, then."

He began giving orders to the men with a practiced ease- take everything you can off of the dead soldiers and then burn the bodies, and collect the Asgardian horses that still mulled about their downed riders. As Thor called for someone to bring the medical supplies, Jane knelt back to the ground once more, carefully moving to inspect the wound.

She didn't touch it at all, not wanting Gísl to catch her with a kick. She settled with running a hand along her sweating hindquarter. "It will be all right, love."

Jane's mind raced with how she could fix it. The arrow looked like it had seriously damaged the flexor tendons that let her move the leg. They'd probably have to at least break off most of the arrow. She wouldn't know if they could remove it without causing more damage until she examined it, which would probably require them to tie Gísl's legs down.

Returning with the medical supplies, as well as several plants, Jane didn't recognize, Thor moved to kneel next to her in the grass. She held up a hand to stop him, "Got any ropes to tie her? She's not exactly the nicest horse to people she doesn't know." She didn't relish the idea of hobbling her horse, but it was either that or not treat the injury, and the latter was not an option.

"Do not worry for me, my lady," he said with a wink.

Jane scowled in annoyance. "I think I would know my own horse, thank you."

"I was not trying to imply you did not," he said, kneeling beside her without fear.

Jane gave up on trying to fight his arrogance, saying, "It's your funeral." She didn't move, knowing that Gísl would lash out eventually; however, she didn't want to be blamed for injuring the Rebellion's golden boy.

"I do not plan to die today," he returned playfully. She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he... _flirting_ at a time like this? She remembered his earlier wink and realized that yes, yes he was flirting. Suddenly, though, as soon as she came to the realization, his mood evaporated, becoming serious. "Do you mind if I treat her?"

She had to remind herself of Hawkeye's words, _He can be trusted, Jane._ "Like I said, your funeral." She also wouldn't mind having a large dent put into his obviously inflated ego if Gísl maybe broke something. Like a finger or his face. (Maybe not his face.)

He'd brought the strange plants with him, running a hand along Gísl's body and speaking so softly to her horse she barely heard him. "Aren't you a lovely creature. Built for speed, these legs are. Can't have an arrow sticking out of one of those beauties, can we now?" His gentle words belied his great size and imposing figure, and something in Jane softened towards him.

He plucked several individual leaves from their branches, tearing them in half along the centerfold vein. Gently, he placed the torn leaves around the arrow shaft, completely covering the wound. They stuck easily to the blood, and Gísl didn't so much as twitch.

Impressed, Jane leaned closer to watch what he did. His palms covered the poultice of leaves then, slotting his thumbs tightly around the arrow. Gísl grunted, showing signs of starting to fight his hands. Jane reacted quickly moving from where she was sitting until she was shoulder to shoulder with Thor and could reach out to grasp Gísl's back legs just below her hocks. "You might want to hurry," Jane said.

Thor nodded, and began speaking, " _Malak kulev kulev. Kulevoô eine na maen._ " Jane had only ever heard it spoken aloud once or twice, but she was certain he was speaking Alfheim Elvish. " _Salim salyvoô. Sha sam haneva,_ " he finished, leaning back. Jane looked down to see the leaves almost shimmering as the ground did when the sun beat down on it. The veins in the leaves pulsed visibly for a moment before the shimmering stopped, and then the leaves looked ordinary once more. "It won't last long."

"What was it?" Jane asked, voice burning with curiosity.

"Elvish medicine," he answered. He sounded a bit surprised by her interest. "It's a temporary pain shield. We'll need to act quickly."

She nodded, moving closer to Thor to examine the leg. She'd heard much about Elvish medicine, but she had never seen it done or had much faith in it. It seemed irrational-saying a few magical words over some leaves. She supposed that was the general basis for most magic, but she'd never seen much practiced; Jane figured it was quantifiable in some way, rationally possible rather than explained away as magically wondrous.

Setting aside her doubts for the time being, her fingers peeled away the leaves and parted the wound as carefully and softly as she could. She noted Gísl's movements-she was still. Much to Jane's surprise, the pain shield had worked, and decided to ask Thor about his knowledge of Elvish medicine later. Refocusing her attention, her eyes carefully catalogued the damage. It hadn't gone as deep as she'd feared- it only went as deep as to conceal the arrow's head. "Think we'll be able to take it out?" Thor asked her. "It looks like we won't cause her any more damage, or more pain than she's already in."

Distantly recognizing and being impressed by his knowledge that came without even having to look closely at the injury, Jane considered his words. Her fingers had become sticky with drying blood, but she had gathered all the information she needed and came to the same conclusion that Thor had. "We'll have to be gentle."

Thor nodded in agreement, hands moving towards the arrow; Jane's moved at the same time, and they collided somewhere in the middle. Neither jolted away or yielded to the other. She shot him an annoyed look. "I have the steadiest hands."

"I have better knowledge of medicine," he fired back.

"And that helps yank out arrows how?"

"I've done this before."

Jane's eyes narrowed, distantly aware that their hands were still touching. "I don't know that for sure. The only person's hands I trust here are my own."

He finally held up his own in deference. "Fine. Just be quick, the pain spell has almost worn off."

Thor moved so that Jane had a better vantage of the arrow, but he didn't move off far. With one hand on the wound, parting the torn edges of the skin, she grasped the arrow with the other, as close to the base as she could. She took one breath in, and with it, she pulled the arrow, not jerking quickly, but rather smoothly sliding until it was free from the tendons and muscles.

Blood began spilling more in earnest, the removal of the arrow renewing the bleeding. Jane covered it without hesitation, pressing hard into the flesh.

Gísl moaned, and Jane shot a look at Thor. "I think we're going to need more of that Elvish medicine."

He nodded, moving back to his original position, shoulder to shoulder with Jane. "I cannot perform the pain shield again, not so soon after the first. This one is not as effective," he explained, tearing more leaves in his hands, "she will still feel the injury somewhat, but it will last long enough so that we can get back to camp."

Jane pulled her hand away, now covered in blood, so she grabbed a cloth from the medical supply kit and began cleaning the blood off her hands. This time, she watched the spell with more apt interest; what plants was he using? Perhaps the properties of the leaves are what make the spells work? One looked like some variety of mint, another was certainly ragwort. She didn't recognize the others - she'd never had much of a fondness for botany.

This one was shorter, but performed in a similar fashion. " _Raku hyan. Eine haneva._ " He left the poultice on the wound, reaching for the cotton wraps. He slowly, deliberately wrapped the wound, large hands graceful and agile in the task. "So what exactly did the Raven do to incur the wrath of the Queen's Army this time?" he asked casually.

Beyond them, Jane noticed, was the stack of soldiers' bodies. A good number of them were completely stripped naked, their wounds still oozing blood slowly. Several had slit throats, evidence that their initial wound hadn't killed them, and so the rebel foot soldiers had done them a kindness of not letting them burn to death. One of the men threw oil over their corpses. Her hands had stopped moving, the bloodied cloth clenched tightly in her fist.

Jane swallowed heavily. The violence and killing was one part of this life she did not think she would ever be accustomed to.

"My lady?" Thor prompted after hearing no response from her. He followed her gaze to the macabre scene as the bodies were set alight.

"Sorry... it's just... what did you ask me, again?"

Thor's lips pursued, and she thought he might pursue the topic she'd opened with her hesitation, but he let it go. "You were being pursued. I was curious how one such as yourself managed to attract the attention of such a large number of the Queen's Army."

She chuckled softly, "'One such as yourself.' You can call me an assassin, if you want. It is probably the technical term for me now, anyway." _Who would have thought. The assassin Jane Foster,_ she thought, pausing briefly before she spoke, "Shouldn't we be getting her up now?" She gestured to Gísl's leg, fully wrapped by Thor's skillful hands. She tucked the rag into a pocket beneath her cloak.

"Ah, yes. We should get moving. The base camp is not too far, about a day's walk. We should get moving before anyone notices the smoke pyre and comes to investigate," he said.

With Jane at Gísl's head, pulling and encouraging, and Thor at her hindquarters, using his bulk to persuade her to stand, the wounded horse heaved herself to her feet. She favored the leg with the wrap, but not to the amount that Jane had suspected. "That's incredible," she breathed, walking backwards for a few paces so that she could watch the leg. "Will this aggravate the injury further?"

Thor walked beside her, slowly making his way to his own horse. "Not any more than would be garnered thrashing around as she was. We will have our veterinarians see to her immediately upon arrival." He took the large, black horse's reins in his hands, but did not mount up. "Men! Form ranks and move out!"

The rebel soldiers lined up in pairs, and most of the pilfered armor and supplies were loaded onto the backs of the reclaimed horses. Whoever headed the line knew which direction to head, so the line began to march. It wasn't a perfect march, but it was more discipline than Jane had expected. Stories she'd heard about the Rebellion hadn't been all that promising, but after everything she'd lost, it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go.

Marking what she hoped would be the last surprise of the day, Thor didn't move to mount his horse, nor did he seem interested in joining his men ahead.

Strange. "Will you not join your troops?" asked Jane, perhaps with a touch of bitterness. "Usually most men are eager to leave the company of a woman."

He fell into step beside her, their horses flanking their shoulders, and he wore a large, warm grin, "I think you will find I am not most men."

* * *

 

**12 Months Earlier**

Fear is a strange beast.

Sometimes, it coils and flames and tears like an angry dragon spewing flame. Other times, it sits in his stomach like a lead weight. Then it becomes colder than a Jotunheim night, freezes his courage and strength of will until they are nothing more than fond memories patterned into the ice.

This was one of the times when it was frozen.

Thor felt absolutely frozen with his fear as he urged Sleipnir faster. Each pound of a hoof against the earth each made Thor feel colder and more afraid.

_What of the princess's son? His condition was not a part of my message._

Of all the things he worried about when he was banished, of all the things he mourned, his brother was the first thing on his mind. Many mornings, he awoke with thoughts of his brother: how he fared, how much taller he had grown in Thor's absence. Their lack of blood relation made no difference to Thor. Loki was his little brother. Always had been, and always will be. Out of everything, he felt mostly the crippling guilt for missing six years of his brother's life because of his own stupidity.

_Jotuns are approaching the border! We must act!_

A handful of letters was all Thor had of his family in the past six years, sent from Asgard in secret because no letter to him would manage to reach him if his brother used the legitimate postal system. That made Thor smile. Loki was always the clever one of the two of them.

His fear curled into flame.

_If they dared lay a finger on my brother, they will regret being born._

* * *

 

After dropping her bow and comfortable clothing off at Darcy's (her mother would never allow her too keep such things in her house, and Darcy always volunteered to hold onto them for her) she returned home.

She'd just finished scrubbing the last of the dirt out from underneath her fingernails at Laurel's behest ( _"I really do wish you'd stop associating with all those people in the Lowtown, Jane. What would say if he found out where you go every day? And look at that dress! By god, you look like a commoner! You'll have to change before dinner."_ ), when she heard their front door open. It wasn't until Jane heard the voice of her father that her head shot up and she felt happiness erupt in her. He was finally home! And a day early!

She raced to the staircase, looking down to where she saw the prominent professor Dr. Erik Foster embracing Laurel warmly. She didn't think she'd ever understand their relationship, given their stark contrast of personalities.

"Father!" she called out in excitement.

His eyes raised to her, and he smiled- his eyes crinkling first before his lips pulled back in joy. "Look at you, my beautiful girl!"

She giggled, racing down the steps. Laurel stepped away, letting Jane enthusiastically throw her arms around Erik. She squeezed him tightly, her face buried in his shoulder. He smelled the same as ever- like chalk dust and wood and whiskey. It was a comfort she didn't have often.

Since she was a little girl, her father had been relatively absent from her life. He was a world renowned professor and scientist, and his groundbreaking research in applied physics had always inspired Jane. He didn't let his absence make his daughter think less of him- he constantly sent her things from his travels, and with each gift he included a letter. He'd been all over the Yggdrasil continent, as well as the lands beyond the seas. A segment of Chitauri armor. A shining, opalescent scale from a Jormagandr serpent. A ceremonial dagger of obsidian stone from the Vinje Moutains in Jotunheim. She kept all of his gifts in her chambers, reminding her every day that her father loved her, and made her remember her goals to become just as famous a scientist as Erik Foster.

He was the one who made sure she attended the best private starting schools on the Rim, even after the rest of the girls her age had stopped attending school to engage in, as Laurel put it, "more practical pursuits." Not only did she remain in school, despite some of her most ardent critics, she excelled. She was due to graduate in a few weeks from New York's best university with a doctorate. She'd forever be _Dr._ Jane Foster. She would never have to be _Mrs._ even if- _when_ she had to take the last name Blake. She would always be a doctor. _Mr. and Dr. Blake_ did not sound nearly as bad.

"I've missed you so," she told him, pulling away.

He patted her cheek gently. "And I, you. Now tell me, how goes the doctorate?"

She heard Laurel sigh behind her, but Jane paid her no mind. "Good. Really good. I've collected enough evidence to prove that the Aurora are a magnetic phenomenon! I can't wait to defend it before the committee."

Erik sighed. "Oh Jane, I really wish I could have talked you into focusing on something more grounded. You know, _real_ science. This theoretical business is rather impractical. If you perhaps changed your thesis, you could come and join me in my work."

It was a tired subject between them, and one that Jane's opinion had never truly strayed on. "As much as I admire your work, Father, I need to go my own way. I don't want to ride your coattails to my grave. And I've worked on this thesis for years. I am not giving up on it."

He smiled again, a note of disappointment in his face that struck her deeply. She didn't let it show. "I've always known better than to argue with you, eh?"

"Well, if we've all that silly academic talk out of the way, I have dinner waiting for us," Laurel said. She looked to Jane, who was now wearing a less formal home dress, crafted of soft, blue velvet and no corset to constrict her less-than-deal figure. "I suppose that will do."

They sit at the table, their small troop of servants moving quickly and silently, dishing food and pouring wine, but once all was settled and the servants were gone, the room descended into a silence only punctuated by the scrape of the silver cutlery upon the porcelain dishes.

"How fares Asgard?" Jane asked, breaking the silence. She knew this trip had ended with a series of lectures at several universities in the Capitol, a place she'd only visited a few times. Each time she'd gone, Jane had been there to visit , and she was more enthralled by the majestic city than she was the man droning on about court politics and how with some fancy treaty-making skills had managed to become thirty-first in line for the throne. The magically-enabled Floating Spires, the grand Palace, not to mention the largest library in Yggdrasil, The Great Asgardian Archives. Jane had tried to convince she wanted to go in (and probably live there.) _"Whatever for?"_ he'd asked in genuine confusion. _"No woman belongs in an academic library."_ That had been the moment that Jane realized how badly she did not want to get married. She had dreamed of ditching her fiancé and going in anyway. Well, she supposed since lived there, so she wouldn't be dreaming anymore; she would not let him stand in the way of her pursuit of knowledge.

Instead of receiving the expected answer, the one he usually gave her about the beauty of the city and the ever-growing collection of the Asgardian Archives, Erik said solemnly, "Chaotic. There are daily arrests on bogus charges, and they are not even trying to hide the arrests any longer. They just drag innocent people out into the streets, sometimes for beatings, and sometimes to be taken away."

Laurel looked uncomfortable, shifting in her seat. "I would say it is unwise to jump to conclusions about their innocence. It seems that the Queen would need good reason before making an arrest, wouldn't you say?"

"Do not play the ignorant fool, Laurel. I know genuine ignorant fools, and you are no actress."

"This," Laurel hissed between clenched teeth, "is the type of talk that will bring the Queensagents down upon us. I would rather not have our entire family imprisoned for sedition or treason."

Jane hated politics. She cursed the required political sciences class she'd been forced to attend. The political practice was so nebulous to her, so fraught with tension and dishonest maneuvering so that the truth could be bent for personal gain. In her opinion, it shouldn't even be considered a science, because the absolute truth is the furthest thing from a politician's mind. She didn't pay much attention to the process, but it was hard to ignore it when Hela came to the throne. That had been an unstable time for Asgard and its provinces of Vanaheim and Midgard.

"The fact that we can be imprisoned for breathing a single word against the crown is the precise reason we should think the people being arrested are innocent. Because statistically, they are. Statements of truth are being regarded as treasonous. Look at the facts," Erik said, "nearly the whole kingdom knows that Hela was not in line for the throne. The current rules of succession say that the eldest male of the Royal Family may take the throne.

"Cul's line ended with Hela when he became sterile in the war. So, the First Family is already out of the line of succession even if Hela had a Quorum, which she does not. Prince Ve's family's mysterious disappearance was never solved, so the Third Family is out of the picture. Not even a month after King Vili died in the 'riding accident,' Hela took the throne. It was just shy of a military coup that she passed off as trying to retain the peace of the land since there would be no viable heirs! Remember Vili's sons who were too young to assume the throne, and yet they were still old enough to be killed in 'military training accidents?' I think Hela got each of the Families out of the way. She forced her way into the crown with the help of her followers, and the whole Court knows it, yet no one does anything about it."

Jane did remember that. She'd been visiting at the time and had been one of the people who had witnessed a green-cloaked Hela leading a sizable force of armored men bearing her crest up the steps of the Palace. Later that day, it had been announced that Hela was now Asgard's sworn Queen.

"If Hela isn't the rightful ruler," asked Jane quietly, contemplatively, "then who is?" It was always difficult for Jane to keep track of the Royal Family. The late King Bor had had four sons, and each of them had their own families, so it was a rather confusing task to remember them, especially since Jane didn't have much care about them.

"Technically, since the First, Second, and Third Families no longer have any male heirs, the right would fall to the Fourth Family. The heir is Thor Odinson, son of the late Odin Borson. The House of Odin should have the throne, not the forced rulership of Culdottir."

That name was familiar to Jane. She remembered why- so many of the other court ladies fawned over him constantly, and there were a few gossip publications that constantly wrote probably falsified stories about the 'Golden God of Asgard.' Jane has always rolled her eyes at that and returned to her studies, because no man was more important than that.

"But he was banished years ago," Laurel pointed out.

"For reasons never disclosed to the public," Erik said. "It would not surprise me if Hela had something to do with that as well. I also can't help but notice that the death of Princess Frigga coincided with serious consideration of her installation as Queen."

"I remember when she was coronated and she was going on about her post being temporary until one of the male heirs became old enough to take the throne," Jane commented, realization dawning upon her. "Do you think Hela arranged the Princess's death to keep herself in power?" She hated political discussion, but she would stomach it for her father.

Laurel finally snapped, "Can we please stop talking about our Queen as if she is a war criminal? It is sedition at best. If anyone were to overhear-"

"Yes, we would be imprisoned. I am well aware," said Erik bitterly.

"Then, perhaps," Laurel hissed, "we should pick up another topic of discussion. This is hardly proper dinner talk, anyway." There were a few moments of heavy silence until Laurel finally let out a gusting breath, and plastered on a grin that Jane could tell was fake. "Jane, dear, why don't you tell your father about the wedding planning?"

And so she swapped one unsavory topic for another. Although, she would rather talk politics than the wedding. _Anything_ other than that.

* * *

 

After dodging most of the questions and passing them off to her mother, who was more than happy to talk about Jane's coming nuptials, Jane excused herself from the table, retreating to her room. She wished she could stay and talk with her father more about her thesis, but Laurel wouldn't give them a moment alone.

 _There's always tomorrow,_ she thought.

She dismissed the ladies maids who offered to help her change for bed. Sometimes she hated their presence, constantly asking her if she needed help like she was a child.

A white nightgown that dropped to her mid-calf was all she had for bed, so she dressed quickly, and then went to her bedside table, where a leather-bound notebook held everything she'd ever discovered about the sky.

It wasn't organized in any way, and it was mostly just a mish-mash of ideas, math, and magical spells she was breaking down into physics, but it was by far her most prized possession. Most nights she found herself falling asleep against its worn pages, and sometimes when she got a big breakthrough, she would stay awake until the next day's sun touched the horizon.

Tonight was a night that she fell asleep reading over her past conclusions.

It was late in the night when Jane was awoken by crashing from the first floor. The sound of many heavy footsteps, and shouted orders from gruff, male voices that she didn't recognize made a toxic fear bloom in Jane like she had never felt anything else before.

_How many people is that now? Seven._

_Ian thinks it's the Queen._

_The Rim is crawling with Queensagents._

"No! Please, no, stop!" She heard her mother pleading hoarsely.

_...not even trying to hide the arrests any longer._

She shoved the blankets off her body and sprung out of bed, heedless of the less than practical nightgown. Not trusting to leave it behind, Jane tucked the notebook away in a pocket of her gown. With her heart rate steadily climbing, Jane looked around her room for something to use as a weapon. She didn't know why she did it- violence was not something she would resort to. Shooting at targets was one thing... actually using something like that on another person was another matter entirely. Regardless of her reservations, she took the still sharp Jotun dagger from its pedestal on the shelf. She felt assured by it's weight in her hand as she raced out of her room and down the hall toward the stairs. The carved wood of the handle was sanded smooth and slid a little against her sweating palm, and the dim light caught the facets of the black blade, making its surface sparkle like a night sky.

She came to a grinding halt when she reached the top of the steps, the sight that greeted her nearly making her sick. There was barely any light cast by a single lantern in the hand of a soldier standing next to a man who seemed to act as commandant to two of the Queen's Army who dragged a struggling figure she knew was her father towards the open door. His hands were forced around his back, and a burlap bag over his head. The two soldiers dragged him backwards, hands controlling Erik by his arms and shoulders.

Her mother stood a few feet away from them, her stance fierce and unrelenting- a look Jane has never seen on Laurel before. "What are the charges against him? He has the right to hear his charges!" Laurel shouted, all fire and righteous anger.

There was no response, and Jane moved forward without thinking. "Let my father go!" she demanded as she descended the stairs.

Her mother whirled to look at her, her face went from strong to terrified. "No, Jane, please, just stay up there," she begged quietly.

"Like hell," Jane replied, having reached the bottom of the stairs. Jane was only forced to a stop when her mother grabbed her arm to keep her from advancing on the soldiers who were making progress towards getting her flailing father out the door. Suddenly, Erik managed to break away, nearly falling forward as the two soldiers lost their grip on him. He didn't make it very far, as the young soldiers were a great deal swifter and stronger than the aging scientist. One of them took his arms back into his hold, and the other landed a sound punch to his gut.

Erik emitted a pained grunt that sounded muffled by more than just the burlap bag.

Red tinged her vision, and rage stirred deep within her, and before her mother could stop her, Jane raised the dagger, and threw it.

She wasn't as good with throwing knives as she was her bow, but she'd spent enough time in the Lowtown to know exactly how to do it.

The soldiers, while well armored, wore no helmets or chainmail, leaving their heads and necks exposed. Her dagger spun through the air, and stabbed into the side of the neck of the one who threw the punch.

He went down almost immediately, and Jane saw the blood pulsing from his neck. It didn't ooze slowly as it did in all the books she'd read. No, she must have hit an artery as blood veritably spurted from the wound, coating the black knife in dark blood. She couldn't take her eyes off of it, the dying man on the floor and the growing puddle of blood beneath him.

"No," breathed Laurel beside her. "Oh, God no."

Jane felt like she was going to be sick.

The commandant strode forward, drawing his sword and stepped past his dead comrade. "Keep on the traitor! I will deal with this harlot," he commanded the remaining soldier still dragging Erik, as well as the one with the lantern. "Insolent woman. Just because you are the weaker sex does not mean I will not bring down the wrath of the Queen's Army down upon you." The lantern was extinguished, leaving them only in the light of the moon.

They could only marginally hear Erik's muffled cries of protest as he was dragged out the door and out of sight.

Jane was only marginally aware of his words as Laurel forced her daughter behind her, adopting the fierce stance once more. "Your petty words and your sword must get through me first," she growled. "And I must warn you that I will not be easily felled."

"Lady Foster, this need not concern you," the commandant said. "I must execute justice. You must understand. Your daughter has killed a member of the Queen's Royal Army and must be dealt with accordingly."

Jane finally tore her gaze away from the man she killed, God, she _killed_ a man, and now she was going to pay for it. In an instant, she saw everything she would lose- her education ( _she would never be Doctor Foster. Never._ ), her family ( _she would never see her father or her mother again. As poor as her relationship was with her mother, Laurel was her mother, and she would never see her again. She'd never see Darcy or Ian, or any of her friends in the Lowtown ever again._ ), and her freedom ( _she would be jailed for life, at best. Never allowed to see the stars, never allowed to travel the world, never allowed to leave her cell. She would probably be executed. She'd be the one dead on the floor._ ).

Fear hit her like a solid wall, and it literally knocked the breath out of her. "Mom," Jane whimpered, terrified, using a moniker she hadn't used since she was a child.

Laurel didn't turn towards her, backing them slowly down the hall towards the back of the house, away from the advancing commandant, who was still trying to persuade Laurel to get out of the way. "A loyal servant of the throne such as yourself need not be troubled by these matters," he coaxed to no avail. One of Laurel's hands found Jane's, squeezing solidly in the most motherly gesture Jane had felt in years. It struck more fear into her heart than anything the commandant said.

"Jane, when I tell you to, you're going to run," Laurel murmured lowly, eyes fixed on the commandant. "You're going to run and you're not going to stop." By the end of the command, Laurel's voice broke.

Tears stung Jane's eyes then, but she didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. She pressed her face into her mother's back, holding back the sobs as the tears started to pour down her face.

"You're going to be very strong for me, my love," Laurel continued, and Jane noticed their position- close to the kitchen, where there was a back door. "History is written by the strongest and the smartest." Laurel came to a stop. "I love you," she said, barely a breath. "Now run!" Laurel commanded sharply, shoving Jane backwards towards the door as she charged, completely unarmed, at the commandant.

Jane ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of Chapter III: Rain Upon the Shepherds
> 
> "So," Thor said conversationally, "You never did tell me your name."  
> "No, I didn't."  
> "Then what am I supposed to call you?"  
> "Whatever you like, I suppose."


	3. The Shepherds

_"Will you not join your troops?" asked Jane, perhaps with a touch of bitterness. "Usually most men are eager to leave the company of a woman."_

_He fell into step beside her, their horses flanking their shoulders, and he wore a large, warm grin, "I think you will find I am not most men."_

Instead of descending into silence, Thor immediately picked up the thread of their conversation. "So," he said conversationally, "You never did tell me your name."

They walked along the treeline, not descending into the forest as she'd assumed they'd do. She would've been comfortable if they had cover. Open spaces no longer gave her comfort as they once had. She wanted to ask why they chose this path, but considering she didn't know the way to the Rebel encampment, she kept her opinion to herself.

"No, I didn't," Jane answered.

He chuckled, seeming to take her answer as sounding coy. Which it definitely hadn't. "Then what am I supposed to call you?" he asked with a broad smile that made her breath catch a bit.

 _Get yourself together, Jane. The Raven doesn't trip over herself because a handsome man smiles at her._ "Whatever you like, I suppose."

"Somehow, 'my lady' doesn't seem to fit you."

Jane snorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice, "Well, isn't that a right shame."

"It is when I am unable to call a beautiful woman by her proper name."

Jane had no quick response for that one; no one had ever called her beautiful before. She couldn't stop the startled, "You think I'm beautiful?" that came out of her mouth. For the first time in a long time, her face heated in a fierce blush.

Thor laughed heartily, making Jane's face heat further. "Aye, and you should be told so every day."

Jane pulled down her embarrassment, shoving it away into a corner of her mind where everything she didn't want to feel went. "I could still shoot you, and you wouldn't be fast enough to stop me" she threatened sharply, but since they both knew that wouldn't happen, it came across as more of a tease.

"And why should compliments be catalyst to a murder?"

Jane turned her head to face his stupidly handsome, cocky face. "Because they are usually handed out by men who want something I'm not willing to give."

The teasing smile fell from his face, replaced by something that bled a deeper sincerity. "I apologize, milady. I did not mean to offend, or impugn upon your honor-"

Touched by his effort to make amends and feeling that her words had come out much harsher than she'd intended, Jane interrupted, "You weren't. I'm, um... I overreacted? Maybe? I'm sorry, I don't usually talk to people. Well, more like I never talk to people."

Overwhelming relief filled her once again as Thor didn't dwell too long on what she said, "As it is, I give you my word I will not give you compliments any longer," he said, turning it back to light banter while still giving her the option to back out of the conversation. She could suddenly believe that he was a politician, despite his less than illustrious appearance.

She could have just let the conversation drop off, but for some reason, she wanted to talk to him. Unfortunately, she was telling the truth when she said she didn't really talk to people. She fumbled for a topic. "I'm sorry I shot at your men," she offered.

"No you're not," Thor answered immediately, no hint of resentment in his voice.

She wondered briefly how he knew that, but didn't try to dissect it just now. "Okay, I'm not," she admitted.

She was encouraged by his smile. "It's good for them to be knocked down a couple of pegs. They start getting cocky, they start getting killed. Not to mention Clig is a raging misogynist and needs to have more women than Sif or Hoder beat him. Many a man have claimed wisdom until they're blindsided by the existence of women," Thor said.

Jane laughed, but within she was impressed by his speech. "Not many are willing to give the courtesy you have shown me. Know that I am thankful," she said, trying to copy the same honesty she heard in his voice.

"Not to mention saving your hide back there," Thor replied cheekily.

She felt herself grinning back. "Not to mention that," she said. She opened her mouth planning on saying more when she froze. The grin fell off her face.

_Listen to the flow of the forest, Jane. The birds, the wind through the branches, the crush of shifting dirt and leaves. Asgardian capital trained soldiers and horses can't move in the forest like we can. Once you hear the flow of the forest, you can hear them blundering about lounder than a forest fire._

"Get down!" Jane shouted, hurling herself at Thor.

Despite his size dwarfing hers, she'd caught him off guard and she took him down to the ground, Jane's body landing on top of his.

Only half a second passed before a sleek, refined arrow of Asgard sliced through the air right where Thor had been standing. It soared past them, landing somewhere in the clearing behind them. Had his horse been one more step forward, he'd have been impaled.

Jane released Gísl's reins. Despite her injury, the horse had good instincts, and Jane had to trust that she wouldn't be injured further. Besides, they were less likely to shoot at a horse if there was no person attached.

"Hostile forces on the western treeline!" Jane yelled, and the men ahead of them assembled much more swiftly than she'd anticipated.

"Assault formation!" Thor commanded from beneath her.

She didn't see who it was, but as she heard the sound of swords being drawn and drawstrings being strained, she also heard a rallying cry. "For our king! For the house of Odin!"

This soon went up amongst all the soldiers, and Jane rose quickly off of Thor as the silver-armored Queen's Army, the green banners of Hela with the crest of the house of Cul snapping in the wind, charged from the trees. An unwise battle tactic to give up their cover, Jane noted idly. Critiquing the Army's battle choices didn't stop her from replacing her hood and scarf; she wouldn't take the chance of her identity becoming known.

She drew her bow. Next to her, she saw that Thor had come to possess axes of varying size. However, these axes were clearly not crafted for wood cutting.

Dark, hard steel characteristic of the legendary weapons crafters of Svartalfheim gleamed in the fading sunlight. The blades were sharp, not showing any signs of wear or chipping. Svartalfheiman steel does not _damage-_ it does the damage, and lesser metals yield to it. No simple axes would be made of it if it wasn't intended for battle. For breaking bones, for rending skin from flesh, for killing. He held two smaller axes in his hands, the wood of the handles dark and worn, displaying their many hours of use.

The largest axe was secured to his back, and Jane wondered how he had hidden it. This thing was wicked looking, a double-bladed battle axe with same steel making up the stylized head. The handle was long and twisted, solidly steel unlike the smaller axes. There were several smooth portions along the handle, covered in some sort of light-colored grip Jane didn't have the patience to identify at the moment.

"For Asgard," she heard him say, and then, quietly, "For Loki." Then he transformed into something else. Hardened, unrelenting, and Jane realized that Hawkeye's faith in him hadn't been misplaced. This was a _warrior_. Not a man nor beast, but a storm made flesh and this storm would send enemies to their knees.

His aim with his axes was deadly. He threw the smaller ones, and they sheared straight through the Queen's Army's armor- two soldiers fell dead with the blades in their chests.

Not wasting any more time worrying about Thor as he detached the monstrous axe from his back, Jane focused all her attention on taking down as many of the soldiers as possible.

They were outnumbered, that much was clear. The Queen's soldiers kept pouring from the trees- and Jane realized she might die after all. Another of her arrows found its mark between the eyes of a soldier who fell not too far from her feet.

Jane knew she wouldn't be able to use her bow for much longer, but she still managed to pick off a number of the enemy soldiers before she was forced to replace her bow and draw her scimitar. It wasn't her preferred method of fighting, but it served well in a bind. It was a gorgeous weapon, the curved blade shining silver with an engraving of characters of a language she did not know near the hilt.

_You can't thrust with a scimitar. It's a curved blade, so it does more damage with a slash. The cutting edge runs all the way to the hilt, and if you do it right, this thing cuts like a fucking meat cleaver. Try it. Don't pull punches with me, Jane. I want you alive._

One of these days she'd stop hearing him.

That day was evidently not today.

A single soldier focused his efforts on her, coming at her with a high-pitched battle cry and his rapier raised. She held her ground with a hidden smirk. He brought the sword down forcefully, sweeping in a downward motion towards her head. She sidestepped quickly to her right, easily bringing the flat of her scimitar upwards to block it, the clash of metal on metal joining with the cacophony of the battle. She brought her free hand upwards and placed it against the side of her scimitar, locking her blade against the soldier's. It didn't take much fanfare to tilt the point downwards and stab the end into the gap in the armor.

She struck blood, and the rapier slackened against her. She withdrew her blade, knocking the rapier away before precisely slashing the throat of the soldier just beneath his helm. The blood spurted out, and she clenched her jaw, trying not to see it as a few drops splashed against her face.

She couldn't pay attention to loss of life as another soldier came upon her. This fight was more strenuous- this opponent appeared to have more skill with his blade than the last. Jane ripped her scabbard from her belt, knowing that she could use it as an extra weapon. With two instruments to parry attacks, the duel quickly shifted in Jane's favor.

She blocked his low thrust with her scimitar, spinning to the side so that she stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Her scabbard came down to take her scimitar's place, and she quickly flicked her blade around behind her, stabbing into her opponent's spine. She had to shove hard to get between the vertebrae, so she spun away, bringing her scimitar in front of her once more before pushing her weight into the blade. She didn't pull it out neatly, slashing to the side, pulling through the muscle and tendon of the back of the torso and letting the scimitar do the damage that it was designed to do.

Incapacitated as he was, it didn't take much to make sure he was dead. She slashed his throat like the soldier before him. Letting a man bleed out from a midsection wound was just cruel.

Another soldier did not immediately come at her, and her eyes quickly checked on the Rebel forces.

They'd been nearly halved by the Queen's Army, their bodies strewn about the battlefield. Many of those still fighting were all manner of injured and bloodied, but they still fought onwards, the red of their armbands and ribbons managing to outshine the blood on their swords and bodies and fallen comrades.

The patchwork armor of the Rebels wasn't the only outfitting of the corpses. The silver armor and green ornamentations of the Queen's army joined the count in greater numbers. It looked as though the Queen's army was down to about the same number as they were.

Her eyes were drawn of their own accord to Thor, who swung his massive battle axe like a predator, often downing more than one opponent at a time.

She didn't have long to survey the area as two soldiers began their own assault upon her. She fell once more into her stance, grip tightening on her scimitar and scabbard.

This wasn't Jane's first fight, but it was certainly her first battle of this size. Normally it was her alone against a small group of soldiers if they ever caught up to her. Mostly, she killed from a distance like her mentor had. As she completed a deadly slash against the neck of one of her opponents and turned to the next one, she found him downed by Thor's axe.

He jerked the blade free of the mutilated body, and several more of the Queen's army now flocked to the pair of them. They immediately fell into back-to-back fighting stances without having to say a word.

"You have much skill with a blade," Thor called over his shoulder to her. She could hear his axe colliding with flesh and the sound of men dying at the end of it.

" _Really_?" Jane said from between gritted teeth, swinging her scimitar in a deadly fashion. " _Now_ you choose to dish out the compliments?" Her blade came across a jugular, and she immediately followed the momentum to the next soldier, opening a deep wound along his shoulder joint where the armor gapped.

Their partnership was natural to anyone who watched. Where Thor fell short, Jane would rise to compensate; likewise, when Jane's scimitar didn't down a foe, Thor's axe was there to make up for it.

It was a violent ballet born in battle and baptized in blood, but the inherent grace and ease in their movements couldn't be denied.

Jane found herself fallen into the monotony of combat- block, parry, slash, block, block, kill, move on. She'd never wanted killing to become commonplace for her, but here she was, fighting back to back with a warrior, her scimitar riving throats and arms and hands, and blood soaking into her boots. If she hadn't been a killer before, she certainly was one now.

It could have been hours or minutes, but all Jane knew when there was no Queen's Army soldier to replace the last one she'd killed was that she was sweaty and her arms felt like air had suffused into her muscles. She'd be sore tomorrow.

She was breathing hard as she turned to Thor, still looking like the warrior.

She drew off her hood and scarf, taking a deep, grateful breath of fresh air not filtered through the cloth. The light breeze blew against her neck and she sighed.

"We won," she stated unnecessarily. She didn't say it with a smile or relief. She maybe felt a bit of relief; after all, they'd survived against the odds, but looking around at the once beautiful forest clearing, the only thing she could truly feel was sadness.

So much death and destruction, and she couldn't help but see the large number of bodies piled around her and Thor.

Meeting Thor's eyes again, she watched with fascination as the warrior drained away, replaced by the man she'd met earlier that day. His face softened, eyes lightening, and as he replaced his axe on his back, she saw the last of the warrior leave him.

"Aye. That we did."

She began to move quickly about the battlefield, jerking her arrows out of the bodies and replacing them in her quiver. She would wash the blood off of them as soon as she could. She made sure to salvage what arrows she could from the bowmen of the Queen's Army. Their arrows were much different than her own. Metallic, refined, probably created by the finest craftsmen Asgard had to offer. They would be different to shoot than her own hand-crafted ones, carved of wood with feather fletching.

When she returned to where Thor stood, she noticed their surviving men gathered around them. Only ten of them had made it through. Jane noted that Cligg was not among the survivors. She wished she'd known more names than his. It was the least amount of respect she could pay them for giving up their lives.

"We should get moving," one of the men said. "Some of the soldiers retreated. Wherever they have their reinforcements, well, they'll know where we are."

"We should at least pay our respects to our dead," Thor insisted, "It's not right to-"

"Thor, if we don't get moving, their sacrifice will have been in vain," Jane said. "That's two detachments of Queen's Army troops in the same area. There might be more. They were pursuing me, so there's no telling how many men they could've deployed. We need to get back to your camp. I'll make sure we're not being followed. Just lead the way."

Thor's eyes bored into her, but she met his eyes unflinchingly. She'd make sure he lived. She owed Hawkeye that much.

"Move out," he finally ordered, but his voice lacked the strength of conviction she'd heard before.

"Formation, sir?" another of the men asked.

Jane saw his jaw twitch. "I don't think it matters anymore, Sig." Sig and the rest of the Rebel soldiers looked confused, shuffling on their feet and not making any attempts to move on.

She shot a look at Thor that he didn't see, his eyes far too busy taking in the scene around them, counting the dead that would never have graves. She sighed heavily but quietly. "Move out in pairs. Thor will lead and I will take up the rear and far guard to ensure no one is following us."

Any complaints about leaving their backs at the responsibility of a woman seem to have quieted after they'd observed her in battle.

As the men lined up as she'd ordered, she grabbed Thor's elbow and pulled him away from the men's earshot. "Look," she began tersely, "I know that it's hard to lose people. Really fucking hard. But you need to get yourself together. They look like lost puppies without you leading them."

"I know," he answered quietly. "I just don't..."

After he trailed off, Jane thought about pushing for an answer, but decided against it. Now wasn't the time nor the place. Even if it was, well... she's not exactly the best conversationalist. "Who knows how many contingents of the Queen's Army are out here. We walked for maybe two minutes before we were ambushed. We need to move out and be on alert." When he didn't respond strongly to her sentiment, she tried something different. "We all have our demons, but now is _not_ the time to be battling them."

Those words seemed to do the trick, his back straightening as he rose up to his full height.

His horse had come back to him, Gísl following limply behind, and he took the reins of the black stallion and mounted up. "Thank you, Raven," he said sincerely once he was seated.

She didn't answer him, feeling that her input on the matter was not needed. Jane only nodded in understanding, before saying, "Take Gísl to the front with you. I need to be mobile if I'm too keep the Queen's Army off our backs."

Thor did as she'd asked, and a part of her wondered why she trusted him so much as to let him take her horse with him. "I will keep a sharp eye to the horizon," he replied.

* * *

**12 Months Earlier**

Sleipnir's hooves clopped dully on the cobbled streets of Asgard's undercity. He wouldn't be able to reach his home through the more reputable areas where he would be easily recognized. It would be best to stick to the shadows as dusk fell swiftly to night in a place where none would know his face from the rest.

Thor drew his cloak tighter to him, keeping his face downcast. There was no one in his immediate vicinity as he turned a corner, but he couldn't be too cautious. He had no desire to be seen or talked to on the off-chance one of the commoners knew the faces of the royal family, particularly one disgraced son.

"Oi! You there on the horse!" suddenly called a woman's voice from behind him, disrupting the hum that was city quiet. So much for getting through without being seen. He had half a mind to ignore her and sprint in the other direction, but that would only call more attention to himself.

Keeping his face as downcast as he could get away with, Thor brought Sleipnir to a halt, pivoting him slightly so he could turn to the woman who had spoken. "Yes, milady?"

She was older, but not so old that the severe hunch in her back could be explained by age. She was mostly obscured by a shawl, but her face appeared kindly. "You from 'round here?" she asked.

Thor squinted suspiciously.

"I only ask 'cause curfew began not yet ten minutes ago. You'll be wantin' to get along to your destination before the Army starts their sweeps."

He swallowed heavily. "I-I was not aware there was a curfew. I have not been to Asgard in some time."

She smiled tightly at him. "Well, we look out for our own here in the undercity. You take care now, you hear?"

"Thank you for your kindness," Thor said earnestly.

The woman seemed pleased. "So well mannered. Your mother raised you right. You tell her that when you see her."

He did his best not to choke as his throat tightened suddenly. "I will. Good evening," he concluded. As an afterthought, and to not raise suspicion, he added, "Long live the queen."

The woman sighed. "Yes, I suppose. Long live the queen."

Thor turned Sleipnir and continued at a more brisk pace than before, urging him to a quick trot that took him through the deserted streets towards the outer part of the city known as the Northern Partition nearest the mountains, where the lord and ladies of the court lived as well as those of the royal bloodline.

The lavish homes and vast courtyards were a stark contrast to the undercity, and despite having grown up here, Thor was jarred by the utter grandeur. But what startled him most was the sheer _size_ of everything. Memory is deception- the image was worn so smooth by time and assumptions that being confronted with the reality was quite startling.

The roads were ornamented on each side with sprawling yards with fountains and gravel drives, monstrous mansions that were desperately trying in a losing game to outshine the Palace, and with the residents and their multitude of wealth oftentimes guarded jealously by large gates and thick walls.

His childhood home was just as lavish. It was in a deeper section of the Northern Partition, nearest the Palace yet it had the most land afforded to each family. This meant there were acres between his home and the homes where his extended family lives- _lived_ he harshly reminded himself.

He drew upon the back entry, where the fewest amount of guards were ever stationed. In the darkness of near-night, Thor could still see the absence of guards. An oddity, but he shouldn't have been surprised.

Loki was expecting him.

Thor dismounted behind a thick, tall set of bushes that would easily conceal them to even scrutinizing eyes in the night. He removed his two smaller axes from his hips, placing them in their holsters on his saddle. His larger axe he almost always left secured to his saddle, which he did this time as well.

Sleipnir blew heavily through his nose, smelling horses he knew nearby in the stables. His father's horse was well-trained, so Thor dropped the reins to the grass, effectively ground-tying him as steadfastly as if he were tied to a rail. He ran a calming hand along Sleipnir's neck before stepping away from him and heading for the house.

Thor approached the back door, still remaining quiet despite the lack of guards.

He twisted the knob, finding it unlocked. Further evidence that Loki was waiting for him. He stepped through the threshold, turning to shut the door as quietly as he could manage.

Before he could call out, someone slammed into his back. He gasped in surprise as he was driven up against the door, and his right arm twisted behind his back. He found his left hand immobilized by something, but he was unable to twist his head to look at it. A sharpened blade point was placed at his throat, a hand threaded forcefully in his hair to keep him still.

"What happened in Nornheim?"

Oh god. That was _his_ voice. The first time Thor had heard it in so many years, and he felt the urge to weep.

"Brother- what-" The blade pressed dangerously deep into his jugular.

"Nornheim. If you are Thor, _you will know which time in Nornheim._ "

He didn't understand the need for the verification, but if it would please Loki, he would do it. "It was one of the first missions we'd been sent on with the Warriors Three and Sif. I was a fool and instead of trying for the diplomatic solution, I decided to take negotiations into my own hands with Mjolnir. You concealed us in smoke so that we could get away. We would've bee killed if it weren't for you."

Only a few moments passed before his arms were loosed. Loki had probably used his magic to bind them. Thor felt him back away, freeing him from his captivity. He turned to look at his brother for the first time in six years. "You've changed brother," Loki said. "In the past, you told that story with laughter. And often conveniently forgot my role in making sure we got out alive. And the brown hair is certainly not your color."

Loki spoke, but Thor only registered the words a few seconds after the fact. He was too busy drinking in his brother's visage for anything else. When Thor had been banished, Loki had been barely out of his boyhood at sixteen. Thor wasn't callous enough to lose track of his brother's age, and Loki was now twenty-two.

"You've grown," shouldn't have been the first thing out of Thor's mouth, but he couldn't keep it in.

Loki had become taller, so much so that he nearly rivaled Thor in height. Loki had always been on the gangly side, and though he seemed to have retained his more refined musculature, but he'd filled out since Thor's banishment. He looked like a man, so unlike the child Thor had left behind. Pride and guilt mixed in his gut.

Loki chuckled, "I've missed you, too."

With that, Thor grabbed his brother's shoulder and drew him into a fierce embrace.

Loki returned it, if a bit less forcefully than Thor.

Upon pulling back, Thor looked upon his brother's face with as much of a smile as he could muster. "I am so glad that you are all right. But was there any particular reason for the friendly greeting?" Thor asked as Loki sheathed his knife.

His jaw tightened. "Hela has many talented magicians and shapeshifters under her employ. Sometimes, I cannot see through their magics."

People had tried to harm his brother with his visage. How those scenarios had played out... he didn't even want to try to imagine it. Thor closed his eyes, trying to control the rage he felt bubbling within. "I'm sorry, Loki. I should have been here."

"Yes, well, there's nothing you can do about it now. I came to terms with your absence long ago." Thor opened his eyes, only to find Loki's expression a mystery. He'd once been able to read him so well... His inability to understand his brother didn't stop the guilt punching into his belly.

Thor quickly changed topics. "I knew Hela's report couldn't be true, but to know that our cousin had a direct hand in Mother's death is unsettling."

"You mean our mother's murder," Loki corrected sharply. "Now is not the time to be diplomatic, Thor. That vile witch _murdered_ our mother to keep the throne. She doesn't deserve to be called family any more. And it was not just our mother- I know you've been banished, but I imagine the illustrious Rebel Savior knows exactly what's been happening."

A conflicted feeling rose in him at being called the Rebel Savior, but he didn't let it show. He instead nodded with Loki's words, and was sensitized to how close Loki was to this. Yes, he'd been hurt by the deaths of his extended family, but Loki had been in Asgard the whole time. He was the one who had to watch as each member of their family fell to Hela's machinations; he had to see the Royal bloodline become a decimated shell around him, the proud heritage spanning back to the Time of the First Songs crumbling because of selfish ambition.

Cul, the oldest of Bor's children and Hela's father, had died before Thor was born, ousted from the throne because he couldn't meet the quorum, a law that required a king to have a son within the first three years of his rule or abdicate; the next eldest son, Vili, then claimed the throne. Uncle Ve and his entire family had gone missing without a trace five years ago, their bodies never recovered and declared dead.

Uncle Vili, their King for nearly forty years, was killed in an 'unfortunate riding accident' four and a half years ago, which Thor was sure was either a setup or an outright lie. Vili's sons, Virve and Skirve, hadn't been old enough to claim their father's now empty throne, and had died about six months after their father in 'tragic military training exercise accidents.' Vili's daughter, Hoder, was ineligible for the throne (the Laws of Succession stated that the eldest son would become king) and attending a university in Alfheim. She was still alive. The former Queen Krista had lost her right to the throne as soon as her husband died, and she had a place in the military, so she was often away on campaigns and not in Court (if Thor knew his aunt at all, she was probably glad for that particular development. Although he was sure she would want to fight like hell against Hela if she knew their current Queen was responsible for the deaths of her family.)

Loki, if he'd been a true-born Odinson, would be next in line considering Thor's banished status, but the law forbade a child not of the bloodline from being king.

The swift removal of heirs was anything but accidental "What happened, Loki?" It was a loaded question with everything that had happened to their family in the years that Thor was banished, but Thor only had one person on his mind.

Loki looked around briefly, "Here, let us go to the study. There's no reason to converse next to the door. Also I'm sure the guards will return soon and I don't fully trust their motivations if they were to overhear us."

Without complaint, Thor followed him to their father's study.

It hadn't changed since Odin had last sat in the large leather armchair by the fireplace. Their father was a serial bibliophile, collecting books from across Yggdrasil in his military travels. They loaded the shelves that lined three walls from floor to ceiling, some spines well-worn while others collected dust on the top levels. His father's desk sat off to the left, mostly untouched by anyone except Frigga since his death. The only wall that did not have a book shelf was the back wall across from the door. It was entirely glass, overlooking the estate in the daytime. Now, though, the red, heavy moiré curtains were drawn over the view. The fireplace split the window down the middle, and Thor could remember each time he and Loki had wandered into the study, despite their intimidation of the room that had seemed at the time to be infinitely large and filled with the imposing presence of Odin.

When the occasion arose that Odin was home, he would smile at his children when they crept in, their bare feet close to silent on the rich carpeting. He would pull a tome from the vast quantities of books, sometimes a war story or a fairy tale, and haul his boys onto his lap and read to them. Thor remembered him smelling of cloves and Niflhel brandy, his voice low and soothing regardless of the material he read.

Simpler times.

"Tell me, brother," Thor prompted once the door was shut behind them.

Loki didn't face him as he told the story. He opted to stroll along the shelves, eyes darting about the multitude of volumes with his hands clasped behind his back. It was so very reminiscent of Odin that Thor nearly forgot that Loki was adopted.

"They came in the night a fortnight ago. Mother had gone to bed hours before I had. I stayed up- here. Reading. Histories of Jotunheim," he said a bit bitterly. "I didn't even know anything was wrong," he said, voice taking a on a distinctly different tone now. It was not just recalling facts, he was remembering his sorrow. "I should have known. Mother always says I am the most gifted magician she's ever seen, that one day I'll be more powerful than she is." Thor didn't bother to correct the present tense.

"And yet-" he said, voice cracking, "and yet I did not sense a single thing amiss. I finished reading for the evening, and went to bed. The next morning, I awoke early. Mother said to wake her whenever I awoke. She wanted to further practice my magic. So I went into her room and-" Loki had come to an abrupt halt next to the desk, and one of his hands reached out to clutch the shelf. His head was bowed to the floor.

Thor wanted to move to ease his brother's suffering, but he could think of nothing to do or say. Loki straightened, but did not release his grip on the shelf as he began to speak again, "She was in bed. She looked like she was simply sleeping, turned away from me as she was. I went to touch her shoulder, to shake her awake and-" another deep breath in and out "-and her throat was cut. There was so much _blood_ , and I couldn't-" He turned to face Thor fully, and Thor saw the tears welling in Loki's eyes. They hadn't yet fallen, and Thor doubted sincerely that his brother had let himself properly grieve yet.

Deciding to set aside his own uncertainty and grief, he moved to hug Loki once again.

Loki didn't hug him back, but he buried his face in Thor's shoulder and Thor knew his actions were welcome ones. Loki did not weep or sob. He merely stood in Thor's embrace.

They stood in near silence for several minutes, the only sounds being Loki's heavy, scraping inhales and exhales. Thor could hear his own heart in his chest.

When Loki pulled away, he turned his back on his brother once more without any fanfare, swiping a brusque hand across his eyes. "I sent for the Royal Guard. I didn't want to, but if I didn't Hela would know that I was on to her. Before they arrived, I examined the house with my magic. I felt the residuals of dark magic, something that Hela's assassin must have used to conceal their arrival and getaway. I was able to-" he struggled to find the right words, "the nature of dark magic is different than anything I've been taught, and- it's hard to explain properly, but I could feel it respond to me. Like it desired me to wield it."

Thor stiffened, but restrained himself from saying anything. His own limited magic was nowhere near the strength and ability of Frigga's or Loki's, but his mother had taught him enough to know the danger of dark magic.

Apparently sensing where his brother's thoughts were turning, Loki shook his head. "Don't worry, I didn't try. But I did sense the architecture of the spell. It reeked of Hela's handiwork, but it was much more powerful than anything I'd ever expect from her.

"The Royal Guard had cleaned up her room and taken her body away within the hour. 'She'll be interred next to her husband in the Palace Crypt,' they told me." Loki shook his head. "I've no doubt they've given her a headstone and commissioned an artist for her likeness, but there won't be a body there. Hela would never take that chance.

"I was the only one besides Hela's lackeys to see her body. Even if I tried to say anything, who would believe the abandoned, adopted Jotun child over the Queen of Asgard?" Hopelessness tinged his words, but they were still edged like a knife.

The silence only lasted a beat before Thor finally spoke, "Loki, I want you to come with me. It's no longer safe for you in Asgard."

At this Loki rolled his eyes. He hadn't lost his penchant for that, it seemed. The brother he knew was back again. "Thor, if the queen wanted me dead, I would be dead."

"Shockingly, that doesn't comfort me very much."

"I know it isn't your strongsuit, dear brother, but try to think. The assassin was cloaked so heavily in dark magic that I couldn't sense them. Why would they leave me alive if I hadn't even the smallest inkling they were here? Further, Hela knows I use magic. She knows I would be able to sense the dark magic here once her assassin left. It would've been better to kill me, tie up the loose end that she never leaves."

"So you suggest I leave you here to be prey to Hela's ploys and traps?" Thor asked incredulously.

"I am _not_ prey," Loki snapped forcefully. "You've been gone a long time, Thor. I've grown in the time that you've been gone. I no longer live in the shade of your greatness, and I no longer need you to protect me!"

"I don't want to lose anyone else," he said brokenly, pleading.

Loki was having none of it. "Well, perhaps if you were not such a _hothead_ , you wouldn't have been banished in the first place! Then perhaps Hela would never have been able to claim the throne, and our mother would still be alive!"

Thor's temper roiled, but he didn't let it loose. He tried to not do that any more. All it had ever gotten him was trouble, heartache, and tragedy. "I've spent every say since I was sent away wanting to take back my actions that day, but no amount of praying will allow me to change the past. I'm sorry I was not here, brother. You have no idea how truly, truly sorry I am for that. Perhaps I could have..." Thor allowed that sentence to trail off.

"What _would_ you have done, Thor?" Loki inquired hotly, finishing the thought for him. "Hm? Mjölnir no longer recognizes you; this assassin was cloaked in magic that even I cannot penetrate, and unless you've another magical weapon I'm not aware of, you would have been just as powerless as I."

"You are right," Thor admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that I at least wish you hadn't been alone."

Loki had no brash comeback prepared for that. The tension was thick in the room for several long beats of silence. "Well, as you said, no amount of prayer will change the past."

Thor was about to try to persuade Loki into coming with him, at least for the time being, when his world exploded.

Glass shards flew through the air, the shrapnel slicing his skin. On reflex, his arm shot up to protect his face and he moved towards his brother, intending to shield him from whatever attack this was.

Five intruders had smashed through the windows of their father's study, shearing the curtains and scattering the glass across the ground. Thor could hear more breaking glass as well as the wooden explosions that told him doors were being broken down as well. There was no telling how many more there were pouring into the house.

The black armor and green ornamentation gave the invaders' identities away- they were of the Queen's Royal Guard.

Thor reached for his axes, only to find their holsters empty, and he remembered with a curse that he'd left them attached to Sleipnir's saddle.

He dropped into a defensive stance, prepared to fight bare-knuckled against these men until his last breath if it meant his brother's survival.

As the first of the Guard came upon him, he drew back a fist, bracing for the inevitable pain that would come from his skin-and-bone fist colliding with their armor. He was startled by a green blast of magic that blew the five intruders backwards; two of them smashed into the bookshelves, collapsing the infrastructure and sending dozens of books to the floor. Two others were thrown out of the windows from whence they came, and the last one found himself impaled upon a fire poker.

His stunned gaze turned to Loki. He could feel the magic in the air, could sense the sly, neat spellwork that was his brother's signature. What looked like green smoke rose off Loki's hands, just below the dark sleeves of his tunic. "As I said, brother, I have changed much."

The sound of heavy boots upon the floor rumbled towards the door to the study.

"Loki, we must go! Now!" Thor said urgently, taking his brother's shoulder.

Loki didn't answer him, instead, he turned and raised his still smoking hands. After performing a few quick gestures the entire door glowed green. "That will not hold them off for very long."

"Then we must leave. Come, Sleipnir can carry both of our weight." Thor tried to move the two of them towards the shattered windows, but Loki shook his hand off. There was the sound of more broken doors, and men shouting back and forth to one another from outside the study.

"I meant what I said. I am not a victim, and I _am_ staying."

"Loki, this is madness-"

"No! Thor, listen to me-" Heavy thuds against the door told Thor that the Guard were now attempting to break it down. "If they catch you, they will _kill you!_ That would be a fatal blow against the Rebellion, and you know it! What a victory for Hela to hold above the people, that she killed the beloved true heir. If you've _any_ sense at all, you will run, and let me hold them off." The green magic that encased the door began to flicker.

"I can't let you-"

"No, it's _my_ turn to protect you, now."

The magic dissipated completely, and the door flew open in a hail of wood shards.

"You _must_ _go!_ " Loki shouted at him.

With his heart in his throat, and what felt like his soul in his feet, Thor made for the windows.

Before he made the short leap to the ground, Thor looked back, watching his brother throw magic and knives at the advancing hoard.

He was vastly outnumbered. There was absolutely no way his little brother would win. For an instant, Thor saw a flash of a little boy, still learning how to control his magic. _Look at this, Thor! I made a flower!_ He nearly hurled himself back into the fray, but he would heed his brother's wishes, no matter how the action gutted him.

"I am so sorry, Loki," he whispered before leaping from the window and making a run for where Sleipnir waited.

He saw the soldiers Loki had blasted from the room at least thirty feet from the house, and he was deeply impressed by the force Loki had put behind that offensive spell.

He nearly tripped over a gutted body of one of his family's personal guards. Loki had been wrong to question their loyalty.

Thor approached the bushes where he'd left his mount. Sleipnir was a seasoned war horse, and he knew when a battle was afoot. He pranced in place, his nostrils flaring and muscles quivering.

Still holding back tears with a clenched jaw, Thor mounted up quickly. He was completely unnoticed by the Guard, whose full attention and forces were focused on mobbing the house.

He saw a green draped carriage, driven by a team of white horses, approaching his home.

Hela had come to dispose of Thor herself.

It had all been a trap. Murdering his mother had been killing two birds with one stone, but leaving Loki alive? No, that was purely to draw Thor back to Asgard.

He felt like throwing up as he realized there was absolutely no way Loki would escape now. _Everything_ in him was telling him to _go back,_ every brotherly protective instinct mixing potently with the warrior blood that ran through his veins.

But all of that was overridden with the plea his brother had sent his way.

_It's my turn to protect you now._

Thor lost his battle with his tears, and he turned Sleipnir before he could change his mind, and for the first time in his life, ran away from his brother in peril.

* * *

Branches and rocks stabbed into Jane's feet, but she didn't stop running, not paying much attention to where she was headed. She didn't hear pursuers, but she didn't trust her own ears. Nearly every sound was blocked out by the sound of her own breathing, the rapid beating of her heart, and a deafening sound of blood rushing in her ears.

She felt like she was going to throw up, but she kept running anyway.

Her nightgown billowed around her legs, and she reached into her pocket and grabbed ahold of her journal. It's solid presence in her hand grounded her, reminded her that she had something to lose.

The brick roads of New York's Rim gave way to the dirt roads of the valley, and Jane stumbled as she careened down the hill towards the Lowtown. She tried to keep running, but her legs got tangled in the impractical gown and she fell to her knees before slamming down on her face.

In that instant on the ground, everything hit Jane at once- the tears rushing down her face, the cuts on her chin and cheeks and knees from her fall, her shaking hands, her freezing body. And the _fear._ God, she was so afraid and was reminded of how nauseous she was. Upon sitting up, she realized that the nausea didn't stop, and she emptied her stomach beside the road. Her stomach cramped, muscles spasming and throat burning.

She coughed before spitting the last of the vomit out of her mouth. Jane panted, trying to quell the sob rising within her.

 _You can do this, Jane,_ she tried to coach herself. But that begged the question: what is the _this_ she's supposed to be doing? She didn't know how to survive on the run. She had never been in a situation even remotely like this before. She couldn't go home, she couldn't let anyone who might turn her in see her. Seriously, _what was she supposed to do_? Run to Jotunheim or Nidavellir? Somewhere beyond the seas, live among the Chitauri? How does she even get there?

God, she didn't know.

Okay, she's rational. How does she solve her problems? If she's stuck on an equation, or a part of her thesis isn't making sense. Start small. Build off the basics. Make a list of what she needs to do.

First off, she needed out of this wrecked nightgown. Extra clothes.

_Darcy._

Yes, Darcy and Ian could help her. It's not like the soldiers would be looking for her in the Lowtown, right?

She stood up, not bothering to fix her appearance. With a deep breath, she headed towards Harlem, where Darcy and Ian lived.

When Darcy answered her door, bleary-eyed and confused at the late hour, Jane pushed straight past her best friend into the house.

"Oh my god, Jane!" Darcy exclaimed in horror at her appearance, apparently having shaken her sleepiness.

Jane tried to ignore her shaking hands as she explained what happened at her house. Her father's abduction. How she killed one of the soldiers. Her mother's sacrifice so she could get away.

"Oh my god, Jane," Darcy said again, quieter this time as she gathered the shaking Jane into her arms.

"I-I need my clothes. And m-my star charts. And-and... and..." she honestly didn't know what else she needed. If she thought she'd gotten herself together on the road earlier, she was wrong.

But Darcy was a capable woman, and her best friend sprung into action. Darcy tore through the house like a hurricane, tossing Jane's clothes at her and ordering her to get dressed, before blazing into her bedroom to wake Ian. She filled him in on the situation and told him to go prepare one of their horses for Jane.

Ian, the good man he was, immediately did so, but not before pausing to give the now-dressed Jane a sympathetic hug. "It will all be all right, Jane," he told her in his heavy Asgardian accent.

She didn't believe him for a second, but she appreciated the sentiment.

Darcy was flinging things into a large saddlebag faster than Jane could truly follow, but she saw her charts go into the bag, along with a good amount of food, and a skein full of water.

Her best friend then went back to the closet, tossing her own favorite cloak at Jane. "You're probably in shock right now, sweetheart, so stay warm, and I'll make sure the horse and everything is ready to go." But Jane didn't feel cold. She just felt numb, and in that moment she didn't know if she'd ever been more grateful to Darcy. "We need to get you on the road before they get the inkling that you might not have stayed on the Rim." Darcy was still making sure everything she'd packed could fit into the saddlebag, and she smiled weakly at Jane. "Good thing your Mom threw out your star charts that one time, eh? If she hadn't, they would still be in your house and you definitely wouldn't have them."

God that seemed so long ago, now. When Jane was sixteen, Laurel had gotten rid of her star charts in the hope that she'd focus on her 'womanly studies.' If anything, it had driven Jane harder to replace the charts and expand them. But not before she'd cried for hours on Darcy's shoulder about it. Her best friend had taken the duty upon herself to keep Jane's treasured charts at her house.

"Jane, you with me?"

Jane's eyes focused on Darcy's face, who stood before her, the saddlebag now gone (probably attached to the saddle by now). "It's time."

She nodded wordlessly, tugging Darcy's cloak tighter around her shoulders. It smelled like home, and her home was gone, so she held onto it like it was gold.

Her mind started to wander again, descending into panic. God, no, she didn't know what she was doing! Couldn't they just hide her in their cellar forever? It would be better than going on the run. God, that's what she was doing now, going on the run like some common criminal. But she is a criminal now, a murderer at that-

A sharp smack across her face brought her back to the present. " _Jane Foster_ , I love you to bits, but you need to put that brain to use girlfriend. You're a genius. You'll be okay. I believe in you so much."

Darcy's slap had brought her back to herself, and she gathered her scattered wits and the pair headed outside.

Ian held the small Appaloosa gelding Jane had usually ridden whenever she and Darcy had gone riding. He was strawberry roan, with a blanket of white hair across his back and rump. His name was Toivo.

She's regained enough of her motor functions to pull herself into the saddle without a leg up. She's not the best rider, but she's had enough practice that she can at least look like she knows what she's doing. Heels down. Grip with thighs. She can do this.

She looks down at Darcy and Ian, two people who she knew she could count on in any situation. "Remember what I said, Jane," Darcy said, her brown eyes full of tears that hadn't fallen. "You're a genius. You can do this."

"Thank you," Jane said, noting the tears in her own eyes. She wished she could wrap her arms around Darcy one last time, but she was already mounted and she really did need to get moving.

"I'd recommend heading south towards the Svartalfheim border. There's only a minimal Asgardian presence there. You should be able to slip through the border patrols," Ian said.

"I owe you both so much," she said, trying to extend as much love for them as possible through her words.

"No you don't. We love you Jane. We need you safe. And now, you really need to go," Darcy said, tugging a rein forward, prompting Toivo to walk.

Jane sent one last look over her shoulder and Darcy and Ian, still clad in their bedclothes with twinned smiles of sadness on their faces. Ian pulled Darcy closer to him, and Jane guessed it was because her best friend was crying.

God, she couldn't look back any more. She turned to face forward, looking between Toivo's ear's. "South," she said quietly, and she urged her horse into a trot.

She kept her steady pace for about twenty minutes. She'd left the city, finding herself in the farm country surrounding New York with only the moon lighting the road ahead of her. Toivo's steady footfalls in the soft dirt punctuated the silence in a _one-two one-two_ rhythm.

She'd managed to keep her mind mostly blank for the first part of her ride, but slowly, she began to think about what would be going on in the hunt for her.

She didn't know what happened to her mother. Was she simply captured like Father? Or did she make the ultimate sacrifice to let her daughter get away? That last option had Jane choking back emotion. Just a few days ago, she'd been at her mother's throat, and while she'd never gone so far as to hope for her mother's death, she didn't think she would've despaired too much when nearly every other sentence of Laurel's was a backhanded insult towards her or her work.

She wondered if they'd start looking for her. She didn't know much about the criminal justice system Asgard had in place, but they probably didn't take murders of soldiers lightly. She wondered if they'd put up those 'Wanted' posters she'd read about in fairy tale novels. They were always reserved for the villains.

She thought about what she'd read in those books. How did they usually go about looking for their criminal? Asking family and friends, of course.

She suddenly froze.

Her family was gone.

Every Queensagent on the Rim probably knew that she spent most of her time in the Lowtown.

They would question her friends.

Friends who had blatantly committed a crime of aiding and abetting a fugitive.

The Queen's Army was not known for it's mercy.

She yanked harshly on the bit, and Toivo threw up his head in startled protest, but she used the reins to whirl him around, back in the direction from which she'd come.

She had to warn Darcy and Ian.

Kicking Toivo into a dead sprint, Jane tangled her fingers in his mane and held on for dear life as she and her mount galloped back towards New York.

She berated herself harshly. She was _so stupid_. God, and Darcy had had so much faith in her, in her ability to use her freaking brain. But apparently, she couldn't even keep the last two people in this world that she loved more than anything safe.

As she drew nearer Darcy and Ian's house, she spotted an unnatural orange light against the night sky over the tops of the other Lowtown buildings.

She slowed Toivo to a canter as she rounded the final corner.

A pained gasp was torn from her as her mouth fell open, and her hand flew up to cover it.

Darcy and Ian's home was on fire.


	4. The Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: The assassin known as the Raven, privately Jane Foster, has finally met up with the man her mentor Hawkeye needed her to find, Thor Odinson. After an intense battle with a squadron of the Queen's Army, the number of Thor's party was drastically reduced, but the remainder was victorious and continued their journey onwards to the rebels' camp.
> 
> Brunnhilde would be portrayed by Gina Torres; Wanda Maximoff by Tatiana Eva Marie; Hoder by Yaya DaCosta; Sigyn by Kawennáhere Devery Jacobs; Peter Parker by a young Andrew Garfield

**Now**

_"Take Gísl to the front with you. I need to be mobile if I'm too keep the Queen's Army off our backs."_

_Thor did as she'd asked, and a part of her wondered why she trusted him so much as to let him take her horse with him. "I will keep a sharp eye to the horizon," he replied._

As the day faded into dusk, the twelve survivors of the attack made their way swiftly through the remaining woods of Svartalfheim. It was rare to see such thickness of shrubbery in this realm due to the Blight. Thor himself was well-acquainted with the areas afflicted by the disturbing phenomenon, so it was refreshing to see some of the Dark Elves' land with still-flourishing forests.

"It's getting dark out," Thor called out to the Raven, who was at the back of the line of soldiers, flitting about the trees like some sort of forest nymph. "We should make camp soon."

"I agree," she called back before making her way towards him. A flock of small birds took flight from the trees as she passed, the thready flutter of hundreds of fine wings causing her to look up. He was struck again by how beautiful a woman she was—her dark brown hair was loosely coiled and tamed into a loose braid behind her head, exposing a sharp set of cheekbones and the jawline of a high-born. Her tan skin was dappled by the coming moonlight through the trees.

Thor snapped himself out of his embarrassing daze. He had work to do. He addressed his men, "We'll circle up. No fires. Do what you can to stay warm." When the sun set in Svartalfheim, even in summer as they were, it could often result in frost and freezing of branches. It would be a rough night.

"Wait," the Raven interrupted his thoughts, drawing an arrow from her quiver, her eyes fixating on something on their left flank. He tensed towards his axes, but did not make a move for them yet.

Thor walked closer to where she was standing, handing the reins of the horses off to someone as she pointed. He followed her gaze, trying to see what she did; a group of glimmers, _fires_ , flickered roughly a hundred meters away. They were barely visible, and Thor turned to the assassin. Her head was tilted slightly, eyes halfway closed. _Listening_ , he realized. After a few moments, she replaced her arrow smoothly back into her quiver. "I don't think we'll need to make camp." At his questioning look, she answered, "That's a refugee wave."

"How can you tell?" Thor questioned, apprehension tightening his fists. He'd lost nearly all of his party in his last fight with the Queen's Army. He had no intention of walking straight into another.

"I can hear their voices," she said, and his expression must have read disbelief, because she followed defensively, "You knew Hawkeye. His abilities, while they sometimes appeared superhuman, were nothing more than intense training and focus. He was a great teacher.

"I know it's a refugee wave because the voices are mixed—old, young, humans, elves. No army of Hela's would have such discordance. If their doyen allows it, we'll be able to camp with them. We'll be able to light fires without drawing suspicion."

Her brown eyes were hard to read, but the strong urge in his gut to trust her won out over his suspicion. Thor agreed with her reasoning, and called for the men to move out. He noticed how the Raven protectively snagged Gísl's reins from the hands of one of his men before she joined Thor at the head of the march. The small action made warmth bloom in his chest.

"How many doyens have you met?" the Raven asked as they set out.

Thor shrugged. "Not many. Those I have met have been welcoming."

"I worry, because most of the doyens I know are dead," she replied. "Just because they have a noble profession in leading the refugee waves out of the realm doesn't mean they will be on board with harboring two well-known fugitives as well as ten members of the Rebellion."

"I don't think we have to be concerned about them turning us in, if that's what you're worried about."

"And why don't I have to worry about that?" she asked.

"Nearly the whole of Svartalfheim is vehemently against Hela. Of all the realms in Yggdrasil, the woodworkers and weapons crafters of this realm have been hit the hardest by the Blight. Refugees are flooding north, and Hela has refused to open our borders to them," he said, resentment boiling inside of him. "We have more resources and land than nearly any other realm, yet she hoards it like the dragons of old."

The Raven's countenance fell. "The Queen seems to care for little else but her own agenda."

Thor grimaced. "Asgard is supposed to be a beacon of hope to the world. Hela has twisted it into something else entirely."

"Beacon of hope," the Raven said quietly. "Right."

"You disagree?" Thor asked.

Her jaw clenched. "Let's just say 'hope' isn't the word I associate with Asgard."

"And what is it that you associate with Asgard?" he asked.

She paused and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Entrapment," she answered with a finality that closed out their discussion on a tense note, and a heavy silence descended, punctuated by the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs beneath their feet.

The glow of the fires and the hum of voices was clearer now, and fifty meters of forest remained between them and the refugees.

Thor looked over at the Raven. She wasn't looking at him, nor was she looking ahead at their destination. Her eyes were fixated upon her horse, guilt radiating from her. Gísl, despite the Elven medicine, was not improving with the shape her leg was in. Her limp, while still not as severe as the injury would normally dictate, had grown worse as the day had worn on. Her pace hadn't been affected much, which Thor recognized as a trait of a headstrong, stubborn horse. The Raven had seemingly found a fit match in her equine partner.

"I promise, she's in as little pain as she can be," Thor assured, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

The Raven was startled at his words, her eyes meeting his. She ran a hand over Gísl's sweating neck. She seemed to choose her words carefully, but they sounded sincere. "I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. Gísl means... she means a lot."

"If it is any comfort, we are only a day or two from our destination. She will not have much further to go."

The Raven responded, "Will you redo your spell on her?"

He nodded. "Aye. Once morning comes, I'll be able to perform it again with no deleterious effects."

Her only response was to nod and smile tightly at him.

They were upon the break now, and only a few more steps would put them outside the trees protection. The Raven replaced her hood and scarf, obscuring her features once again. "Let's pray this doyen is friendly," she murmured as she and Thor broke through the trees.

The clearing was small, but well-shrouded by trees on all sides. The smell of roasted game hung in the air, the heavy, greasy smell making the air thick. The refugees were clustered in family units around their fires in the space; there were no more than thirty individuals in this wave. Many were using bags as pillows upon the hard-packed earth. Parents surrendered cloaks and blankets so that their children and elderly could be warm. Very few of them were sleeping, and they all shot to attention when Thor's party entered the clearing. Men and women alike arose protectively, some hovering over children and elderly, others throwing blankets over their possessions and poising themselves to defend what little they had left.

Thor tried to overlook the suffering, the way that the Raven seemed to as she sought out the doyen. But he couldn't bring himself to do so, his perception narrowing to the frightened, dirty children; the parents who had clearly been skipping meals to feed their families; the face of a desperate Dark Elf woman who gathered her children close to her and stared him down as though only the Norns could wrench them apart; a teenaged human girl shoving two younger siblings behind herself with naught but a stone knife to defend them. No one knew what caused the Blight, but in that moment, Thor felt he could blame Hela for anything.

His preoccupation with blaming his cousin nearly caused him to forget his search for the doyen, and when he refocused himself, he found them immediately as as a tall, armored figure cut through the middle of the group like a canoe through water. Whoever the figure was seemed human, though they had the height of a small Giant. They were clad in armor that looked to be the same Svartalfheim steel his axes were crafted of. It was not a cheap thing to have the dark steel fashioned into weapons and armor, so this doyen was well-off. Their helmet was custom-made in a design he'd never seen before. There were few impractical embellishments that many warriors preferred. Instead, the open-faced helm looked almost Light Elvish with the soft, flowing design reminiscent of water or wind and lacked sharp angles. They carried a large claymore sword of a cheaper metal, but it was no less vicious looking in their hands, as well as one sheathed machete at their side.

"Who goes there?" came a strong feminine voice.

Thor stepped forward, prepared to introduce himself and his party until the Raven beat him to it.

"Brunnhilde!" she cried, tearing off her scarf and hood.

Thor was startled out of his skin at the Raven's sudden cry, even more so to see the wide smile spanning her face. That aside, Thor had heard of this woman. She was the premier doyen of Svartalfheim, credited with leading thousands of her people over the borders, both into Alfheim and battling into the lower regions of Midgard. She was respected and feared in equal measure, and she looked equally as shocked to see the Raven.

She sheathed her sword behind her back and removed her helmet, dropping it to the forest floor before approaching. "Raven! By the Weave, I thought you dead!"

"I thought _you_ dead!" the Raven replied, far more gleefully than one would expect given the words she spoke.

Brunnhilde was an impressive woman. She stood taller than Thor himself, and she was as broad and muscular as the finest trained Asgardian warrior. Her dark, ochre skin glowed coppery in the firelight, and her dark eyes were steely but alight with joy. Her curled hair was a wild tumble, barely constrained in a braid that ran down her back. She had to lean down quite a ways to embrace the diminutive Raven, but neither woman showed any discomfort, both grinning wildly.

When they pulled apart, the Raven said, "I'd heard that you were captured and taken to Fort Vladovsk? I know none who have escaped there."

Brunnhilde's smile became smug. "Now you do. Stand down," she called behind her to her people before refocusing on Jane, "These are friends." Her attention turned to Thor and the rest of his men, "And just who have you brought with you? Hawkeye must not be amongst them; I would've heard him long before now."

Thor watched carefully as the Raven seemed to still at the mention of her mentor and his friend, and she shifted her grip on Gísl's reins. Her reticence was gone a moment later. "This is Thor Odinson, and what is left of his accompaniment."

Thor stepped forward, bowing slightly to the doyen. "Your reputation precedes you, milady." There was a subdued chorus of salutes and 'ma'am's from behind him.

"As does yours," she returned. "I know you are not my king, but," she fisted her hand and placed it over her heart in an informal Asgardian salute, "you and your cause have my support."

"The Rebellion is better off knowing you are on our side," Thor said.

She gestured to his men. "Though I am surprised that Yggdrasil's most wanted fugitive and leader of such an important movement would travel with so few guardsmen. Are you as great a warrior as they say?"

"Better," he answered with a prideful smile. He watched with fascination as Brunnhilde looked to the Raven, and when his companion nodded, turned back to face him. "After we liberated the Raven from her Queen's Army pursuers, we were ambushed by a larger force. Had she not been with us," Thor said, looking pointedly at the woman in question, "our casualties would have certainly been greater." The Raven showed no real emotion at his praise, keeping her eyes fixed on Brunnhilde.

The doyen nodded, absorbing the information with an inquisitive expression. "I assume you would like to stay among us for the night," she said.

"Yes," the Raven replied. "We didn't want to risk lighting fires on our own, and we both know the pains of enduring a Svartalfheim night with no fire."

Brunnhilde pursed her lips, and Thor felt worry curl inside him. "You said you were concerned about the Queen's Army pursuing you."

"This is a precaution," the Raven assured, and Thor let her handle the negotiations. As much as the doyen seemed to respect him, she needed assurance from someone she trusted, and that someone was not him. "I haven't seen a single sign of anyone following us since they attacked."

"I have a duty to protect my people," she said, her hand tightening on the hilt of her machete.

"I wouldn't be asking if the need was not dire," the Raven replied. She hesitated before she added, "If it comes to it, I know Thor and his men will gladly fight for these civilians. They are fine warriors."

Brunnhilde responded, "Your Queen's Army shouldn't be in our realm in the first place. How Hela convinced Queen Alflyse to agree to what amounts to a military occupation I will never know. But, in a manner of thought, if I'm sheltering a key member of the Rebellion, then technically I'm still doing what is best for my people, am I not?" Thor felt a grin growing, and he saw one on the Raven's face as well. "As long as Odinson agrees to remove Asgard's military presence from Svartalfheim once he unseats that _lutan_ , we will provide you shelter for the night."

Thor was nodding in agreement before she finished her proposal. "You have my word."

"Then the matter is settled. I do ask, however, that your men do not cause any disruptions. There are families here. Children."

"We'll be quieter than mice, milady," Thor assured.

Brunnhilde narrowed her eyes, and Thor saw the woman who struck fear into even the most hardened warrior's heart, who had apparently escaped Fort Vladovsk and lived to tell the tale. "I do not simply mean noise. I know exactly how some men, particularly warriors, can get after they've been on a long march. Have seen a bloody battle. Have long been without the comfort of a warm body."

Thor's jaw clenched, but he knew her accusation wasn't unfounded. "I hold myself and my men to the highest of standards. Disobedience in that regard is followed by swift retribution, rest assured."

Finally, Brunnhilde appeared satisfied. "Set up camp wherever you like."

As the ten began to move to swiftly and silently do so, the Raven responded, "Thank you, Brunnhilde."

"When did you split off with Hawkeye?" she asked then. "Last I saw the two of you, you were attached at the hip."

Thor watched the Raven's lips thin, her posture going rigid beneath her cloak. "Months ago, now." She said it quietly, like a prayer. "It wasn't by choice."

Brunnhilde stiffened. "He didn't... He wasn't—"

"You know him. He never would've let that happen."

Many words hung unspoken between the two women. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. Even if I couldn't have done anything, at least you wouldn't have been alone."

The Raven smiled again, tightly this time with a falseness to it that Thor hadn't seen in her first. "I have no problem with being alone. And you have your duty. I respect that and do not begrudge you for it."

For what was not the first time and likely wasn't the last, Thor wondered again what had happened between her and Hawkeye. He hadn't seen the man he knew both as Clint Barton and as Hawkeye in over a year, around the time when the Rebellion discovered the clandestine, nefarious doings of his wife Natasha. Things had veritably exploded after that, and Clint had left the Rebellion proper and struck out on his own, seeking answers Thor hadn't been sure Clint was going to find.

Excusing herself from the conversation after that, the Raven stalked off toward the perimeter of the clearing, hands twitching and shoulders set.

Thor and Brunnhilde came to stand shoulder to shoulder as they watched her go. Brunnhilde disclosed quietly, "She is strong, Odinson, but I'm concerned about her."

He turned, looking up to meet the doyen's eyes. "I'm surprised you trust me enough to tell me this."

Brunnhilde chuckled once, without any real mirth. "A doyen learns quickly to become a good judge of character. Also," she turned her gaze back towards the Raven, who was now tracing the perimeter, eyes to the forest, "I trust the Raven's judgement. She trusts you, whether she wants to or not."

"I assume she doesn't do that often."

She nodded. "You assume correctly."

"Can I ask how it is that you came to know her?"

As if settling back into an old storytelling chair, Brunnhilde leaned back on her heels and relaxed. "She did not make herself easy to know. But I met her, both of them, near the bay of Luzcendra just outside of Alfheim. She and Hawkeye were skinny little scraps, their arms barely larger than the breadth of their arrows. They'd just been through the largest Blighted area of Svartalfheim and were a few days from becoming ash themselves when I found them. I fed them for a few days, but then they hung around after that like a couple of strays. We ran together for a while; I learned it was their first time in Svartalfheim, so I showed them safer routes through the Blight, and they added extra security to my waves and gave me new ways to dodge the border patrols into Midgard.

"We were good for a long time. It was only months, but you experience time differently when your realm is falling apart at the seams and Yggdrasil's branches are dying with each passing day. Hawkeye was—they were very different. He wasn't open, exactly, but he didn't hide his intentions. I knew about his desire to find his wife, talked about her whenever he had the chance, annoying git," she said with no real bite, "But the Raven is gifted with the ability to talk much while saying little."

"Talking _much_?" he asked in surprise. He hadn't known her for long, but he'd noticed her reticence rather quickly.

Brunnhilde gave him a knowing look. "She favors remaining tacit in new company. Her mentor preached constant observation, and listening silently is a good way to do that."

"Sound strategy."

"She is a sound strategist," Brunnhilde remarked drily. "She will help the Rebellion if she stays."

"That is what I've heard."

The doyen turned fully to face him, and he copied her actions. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Thor Odinson. When you ride to victory, Asgard will be in good hands."

He swallowed heavily. "The pleasure has been mine, Doyen Brunnhilde."

Though the timing made it seem to be an afterthought, she said it as though the entire conversation had led up to it, "She does not give her trust easily. After what I expect happened to Hawkeye, she—" Brunnhilde takes a collecting breath. "Make her talk. She thinks she's invincible and can hold in her emotions forever within herself, but that's no way to live."

Without saying anything further, Brunnhilde split off to tend to her people, leaving Thor to make certain of the condition of his own men.

It wasn't that much later that he found himself drifting towards the Raven once again. The sun had set, and the full moon was rising on the horizon. The temperature hadn't plummeted yet, but it had fallen to a low enough point that Thor had thrown his cloak over his shoulders. Then he'd found the Raven, sitting away from everyone and far from the warmth of a fire. She'd knotted Gísl's reins to a branch, but the horse showed no signs of running off as she leaned against the tree, head drooping low to sleep. Much more alarming was the fact that the Raven didn't seem to be affected by the cold. She had taken off her own hooded cloak and removed her scarf, and she didn't seem to be making any moves to start a fire. Her face was set in deep contemplation.

"How are you not chilled to the bone?" he asked as he approached, breaking her concentration.

She shrugged, "Wasn't really thinking about it." He watches as she pulls her arms around herself, seemingly aware of the temperature now that he's mentioned it. He had the deep urge to share his cloak with her which he tamped down immediately.

He sat down next to her, and he noted that she was careful to maintain the physical distance between them. "You know, when I heard that you had a message for me, I had assumed that you and Hawkeye would come together, or at the very least had planned a rendezvous point."

The Raven didn't seem amused by his observation. "You and many others, apparently."

"I do not mean to disparage your individual ability," he was quick to assure, "but I am curious to know how it just became you. Clint and I were friends, I would've liked to see him again."

"His name was Clint?"

"You did not know?"

She shook her head. "Was one of his rules. One of the first things he did when I met him was tell me to give myself a new name."

"You chose the Raven," Thor stated, half-heartedly hoping that this line of questioning would lead her to reveal her true name to him.

"Seemed appropriate." She didn't elaborate.

Deciding to try a new angle, Thor said, "I'll make a deal with you. Every time you answer one of my questions, I'll answer one of yours. Whoever passes has to see to the obnoxious task of starting the fire. Normally there's alcohol involved in this game, but I'm willing to make an exception." He winked, partly out of sheer habit but also because he wanted to see her respond to his flirting again.

Similar to before, she seemed oblivious until his wink, and then she blinked with a slightly shocked look on her face. "What makes you think I want to know anything about you?"

"You do," he assured, hoping he's read her correctly. "Now's your chance. So... Deal?"

After a long enough time for Thor to stop doubting his decision and instead begin to worry how she was going to harm him for his suggestion, she answered, "Deal, but I go first."

"Fair enough."

"How did you know Hawkeye? And for how long?"

"One question at a time," he replied. "I knew him also as Clint Barton. He and his wife were founding members of the Rebellion. They were on the Council long before I even knew there was a Rebellion being formed. I haven't seen him in over a year, not since everything happened with Natasha. Now it's my turn," he said, looking at her in contemplation. She met his eye in challenge, arching one brow primly at him.

He knew she wouldn't answer about her name. Maybe if his flask wasn't empty for this game, he could ask her once her tongue had been loosed by the liquor, but he didn't want it to come to that. "Where are you from?"

She hadn't been expecting that question, but she answered it regardless, "Midgard. New York." She'd always sounded like she was from Midgard, but he hadn't picked up on any sort of the accent unique to that part of the province. "Why did you help Gísl?"

"Because I also have a horse that is too precious to me to lose," he answered simply. "It's worth the slowed pace to not forget one's capacity for mercy. How many battles had you fought before today?" He wondered how many times she'd had to fight like he'd seen today.

She hesitated strongly. It looked like she was going to answer before she reached for one of the sticks of firewood and began to peel the bark off. He hadn't anticipated that. She tossed the fine, dusty inner bark into a pile as she leaped into the next question without hesitation. "Science or magic?"

He laughed a bit at her wording, reminding him of silly choice games he and Loki once played as a child. "Why not both? I understand the dynamics of the tension between the scientists and the magicians, but I'm of the belief that magic and science are one and the same thing. Yourself?"

Her fingers kept working the bark off the logs as she answered, "Science. I prefer concrete answers to blind faith. How was it that you came to know who I was?"

"Word of mouth. After Hawkeye dropped off the map, you made quite the name for yourself. Tales of your exploits against the Queen's Army have fueled many of our recent recruits' desires to join the Rebellion. I should thank you for that." Her fingers stumbled across the log at that, and she began to bite her lower lip again. He decided to move on quickly. "You said you didn't like blind faith. Are you religious?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. My apologies if you are. My—um, my family practiced Singularity," she said as though the words were being dragged out of her. He had a feeling she hadn't meant to include the bit about her family, but he didn't interrupt. "So I tend to say 'God' more than most. I never bought into Singularity or the Word of the Skalds. I just find it hard to believe that there's one omnipotent being beyond our understanding that knows everything, or that three old women are up in the sky spinning the fate of the world into a Weave." She began on the next log. "Why do you obey the parameters set by your banishment? Norns know you could easily make it back into Asgard."

He remembered the screams of terror, the crunch of bone and gush of blood, remembered Loki's hands pulling him back, but it was too late— "Pass," he answered tensely, taking the wood from her and taking up the task of stripping the inner bark and adding to the pile.

When he did not ask another question for some time, the Raven spoke up, "I'm sorry if I—I'm sorry I asked that question. I'll just—I'm going to check the perimeter." She reached for her bow and quiver where it lay against the log behind them, but he caught her wrist.

"It's okay. Truly, you did no harm," he assured. "I was simply trying to think of another question that you would answer." If that wasn't the complete truth, she needn't know. Her eyes were fixated on her hand, and he didn't understand why until he realized he was still holding onto her. Releasing her quickly, he finally asked with a cheeky grin on his face, "What's your favorite color?"

She huffed a little laugh that seemed to surprise her as much as him, and it only made the grin on his face widen. "Blue. Yours?"

"Red."

"Color of your house. Fitting, I suppose. I imagine your favorite animal is also an eight-legged horse to correspond to your coat of arms?"

Thor chuckled. "You have knowledge of my house, moreso than a commoner." He watched in despair as she seemed to shut down, but he was still determined. "Were you educated?"

Obviously tempted to pass on the question, her eyes lingered on the stripped log in his hands. "Not in the political sciences," she answered, "And I always hated Royal Lineage Studies. No offense," she offered.

"None taken. I had much the same reaction in my own schooling, and it was my own family we were discussing." They had amassed a significant pile of thin, papery bark now, so he took his flint out of his pocket. As he struck the two stones together, he wondered just how much education she had. "What did you study?"

"Ah, I believe it's my turn to ask the question," she pointed out. "The Rebellion... in all honesty, what are its chances of succeeding?"

The stones struck true, sending a shower of hot sparks into the bark. Several of them found purchase, beginning to glow. Thor blew gently on the tiny embers, then added small sticks to their fledgling flame as he responded, "Slim. But so long as there is life in my breast I plan to fight. Now," he said with no small amount of delight, "What did you study?"

She smiled at his expression, handing him larger pieces of wood as their fire began to grow in size. "Science. Physics, to be exact."

"I'm going to be honest," he said, "I did not expect that." Physics were a very new branch of scientific inquiry, sometimes seen as a fool's fancy beside the reality-grounded life or earth sciences. Magicians, on the other hand, simply hated it as physicists often attempted to break down magical spells into scientific equations.

"Why?" she asked tersely, "Because a woman has no place in science? That she should be at home mending linens and having children?"

They sounded like arguments she'd heard before, and that saddened him. "No, because you seem far too practical a person to study such a thing."

His observation was apparently so funny to her that she'd doubled over in laughter before he could add another log to the fire. His shock of her emotive reaction aside, he felt a contagious grin spread across his face. "What did I say?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she eventually stammered out, "but someone I knew _always_ told me otherwise." She let out another few errant chuckles before taking a deep breath. "But she's gone now, so..."

"I'm sorry," he offered, hoping to assuage the melancholic look that had come across her face.

The fire began to warm his hands, and he watched as her eyes tracked the red and orange flames. Her hands reached towards the flames, her skin pale with the cold. "It's of no consequence. It's in the past." She switched subjects quickly, asking, "How much longer until we arrive at your camp?"

"We're close," he said, glancing up at the stars to ensure his report. "No more than a day. Likely less."

"You know how to use the stars to navigate?" she inquired, sounding far more interested than she had in anything else he'd said thus far. The fire was adequately started, the flames crackling through the dry tinder, so Thor took the chance to sit back down next to her.

"Yes. I learned as a boy in school, but the lesson wasn't truly learned until I was banished and forced to use it."

He thought that it might be an avenue into learning more about her than the game had afforded him, but she remained quiet and contemplative until his eyes began to droop.

"You should sleep," she told him. "They need to see their leader strong."

He wanted to argue, but he found that he had no ground to stand on for an argument, so he mumbled a goodnight and headed for the circle of his men where a space had been reserved for his bedroll.

Before he got too far away, he turned back towards the Raven. "You should sleep as well."

Even though she responded with an "I will," he didn't quite believe her.

When he awoke in the morning, she was already awake and asking about the follow up spell for Gísl's leg. He performed it easily, the words and actions second nature by now, and he watched her carefully. He found he couldn't tell whether she'd heeded his words and rested, or if she'd done what his gut told him she did and stayed up all night with her bow and arrow at the ready.

They set off towards camp after the Raven shared a tender goodbye with Brunnhilde. The Raven told her to avoid the Pass of the Leviathan into Midgard for the next few weeks because soldiers were using it until the early summer flooding on the Claidh Peninsula went down. Brunnhilde told her to avoid the Serpent Bering through the Blight as spring storms had left it awash with ash and completely useless indefinitely.

They parted as allies, and Brunnhilde was sure to give him one last Asgardian salute as she followed the last of her people disappearing through the trees.

* * *

They spotted the sentries long before they saw the encampment. The structure upon which they stood was square, taller than most of the trees surrounding it, and decorated with the tenements of the house of Odin—red banners emblazoned proudly with the stylized eight-legged horse of Odin's crest. Oddly, Jane thought they'd be less obvious about their allegiance, but, she supposed, they were no longer within the borders of the Realm Eternal, so there was no real reason to hide it.

The sentries hollered some sort of call, and when Thor bellowed his own back, Jane finally heard some semblance of words being called from the sentries: "The Prince has returned!"

"Thor is back!"

The loud sentiments echoed backwards, and their small party followed the cadence of the voices until the reached the camp proper.

The rebel encampment was exactly what Jane had expected. Small, well camouflaged, and clearly built to be taken down in a hurry. Despite the fact that it was built in a clearing, most of the open space had been reserved for military training grounds. Dummies made of wood and sandbags with painted on targets played antagonist to small contingents of soldiers who were clearly on the raw side of the soldiering spectrum. Aspiring knights performed sloppy sword slashes that would get themselves killed more easily than it would take down an opponent; those that learned bows held them too tensely, pulled the strings far too tightly to the wrong anchor point; there was a long stretch of grass set aside where mounted soldiers practiced battling unmounted foes with unbalanced thrusts of their pikes. Above the din of the swords and bows, she could hear the demanding voices of the lieutenants, threatening their pupils with violence and shame if they didn't improve.

She noticed Thor looking eagerly over the crowd of soldiers, but apparently not finding what or who he was looking for.

Since the clearing had been reserved for training space, most of the camp had been built into the forest. Canvas tents were moored upon and constructed around trees, some larger than others. She couldn't see every tent, as they extended further into the forest than her eye could see.

Every horse except for her own in the party had been piled high with armor and weapons pilfered from the Queen's Army, so when Thor dismissed the soldiers, he sent all of them to the armory. He even handed off the reins to his black stallion to one of them, a man she believed was called Sig. She figured Thor must trust him if he's going to be handing his horse to him—then she realized she'd have to do exactly the same.

"I believe I promised you a vet," Thor said, apparently reading her mind again. She merely nodded in response. "Come with me," he said brusquely, leading her deeper into camp.

The forest cast dark shadows upon the tents, and Jane could see the lights of many fires to combat the darkness. She wrinkled her nose. "So many fires?"

"We use mainly use fireholes to reduce our smoke and light signature. We have some magic-users who have charms to hide fires, but they're at the base camp. We can't risk taking them on these field missions." When a soldier stopped to salute him, he asked, "Is Wanda around?"

He eagerly replied, "Yes, sir, in her tent, sir."

Thor added, "Tell the Commander and the others that I've returned, and I have the Raven with me. Once we've delivered this horse to Wanda, we'll be along."

The soldier's eyes bugged out as he looked at Jane. "Y-yes, sir. They'll have heard of your return by now and likely be waiting in the war room. Sir."

He thanked and dismissed the young soldier and gestured for Jane to follow him. Her fingers tightened around Gísl's reins, and her horse began to work the bit, feeling her rider's tension.

"Never have I seen someone with a touch for every creature as Wanda has," Thor told her as they approached a large tent with no flap over the entrance. "You can trust her."

She shouldn't be feeling her tension dissipate at his assurance, and while it didn't release, the knot loosened in her gut against her will. Inside the high-roofed tent were stalls of various size. They were collapsable, the frames made of light Wakandawood for ease of transport and canvas to separate the patients.

There was one other horse in the tent, a small, gray pony with it's head drooped to the ground. Jane wondered what was wrong with it.

"Tetanus," came a voice from behind her. Jane turned to see the woman who must be Wanda approaching her. "The rust sickness," she clarified unnecessarily, "Poor thing got scratched by one bad nail, and he ends up here with me." She turned to Thor, "It's good to see you well after your travels, my friend."

As Thor wrapped the small woman in a friendly embrace, Jane observed the vet who would be taking care of Gísl. Dressed in heavy leathers, her refined musculature was disguised. Her deep maroon jacket seemed more of a personal statement than an oath of fealty to Odin's house; she wore her Odinson red in the form of a cloth cuff around her bicep. She had a round jaw and face, her cheekbones lost in the gentle swells. Her eyebrows were thick and primly arched over large eyes, and she wore heavy red pigment highlighting full lips but no other makeup. She could've been the very definition of an average face, but when she pulled back from Thor with a smile, Jane saw some kind of spark in her gaze. Some sort of magical quality that made her seem trustworthy if disconcerting.

"Your meeting with Alflyse went well?" Wanda asked, her accent wrapping around the vowels in a way Jane had never heard before.

Thor's smile didn't drop, but he answered, "It was complicated. Perhaps we can talk about it later. This is my friend, the Raven," Thor introduced, and Jane was offset by his calling her 'my friend,' "and the magnificent beast at her side is Gísl."

Wanda smiled politely at Jane but went straight for Gísl, murmuring to her in a heavy, lilting language. "She's in pain," she said quietly, but it sounded like what she truly wanted to say didn't quite translate into the Alltongue. "What happened to her?"

"Arrow to the hock," Jane answered curtly before asking, "Can you help her?" The desperation in her voice was plain, she knew, but at this point she didn't much care.

Wanda still didn't meet her eyes, walking alongside Gísl until she reached the wound. A sharp intake of breath from the strange vet made Jane wince.

"I can try, Raven," Wanda replied, "but I no longer make any promises I cannot keep."

A sudden red energy bloomed from Wanda's hands over the still dressed wound. Jane nearly went for her sword, to hell with what Thor had told her, but Gísl did not startle, only relaxed into Wanda's ministrations.

"You have magic," Jane breathed, relaxing away from her weapon and feeling rash for jumping to conclusions.

Wanda nodded, still focused on the task at hand. "I was born with gifts. I used them to fight, once." The magic was unlike anything Jane had ever seen, the red energy flowing like the Aurora in the sky as her hands shifted over the wound. "But I've found better use for them than to wreak havoc and death."

A small commotion by the entry made Thor and Jane turn. "Begging your pardon, sir, madams," came the voice of the same soldier they'd passed on their way to Wanda's tent, "But Commander Sif has requested your presence immediately."

Jane's eyes returned to Wanda, who sent her a smile that was meant to be reassuring. It didn't quite settle her unease, but it seemed she could trust the woman enough to leave Gísl in her care. "I will care for her in your stead, Raven," Wanda promised. "You needn't worry about her while you are away."

She took a breath before handing the reins to Wanda. As the worn leather slipped through her fingers, Jane forced herself to stay calm. Thor kept telling her Wanda could be trusted, and from what Jane had seen, she had no reason to doubt his claim. Gísl seemed relaxed and calm, even as Jane stepped away. With a difficulty she wouldn't admit, she turned away and didn't look back as she strode out of the tent.

With Thor at her side, they made their way deeper into the woods to the structure evidently called the war room. It was just as large as the tent they'd just left Wanda tending to Gísl in, but inside the entrance the atmosphere alone was enough to differentiate the two.

A group of twelve people in various states of armament stood around a large table holding various maps and sundry items like compasses and rulers.

It didn't take Jane long to decipher who the leader was as the Rebel leaders turned to face them. They parted around her like the wake of a boat, and while their eyes might be glued to their prince, their bodies gravitated around this woman. _This must be the infamous Commander Sif_ , Jane figured. She'd heard of the pale-skinned, raven-haired woman long before she'd become Commander of the Rebellion's forces. No, she'd heard of Sif Valdottir back when she'd just been engaged to . The adopted daughter of one of the most prominent noble families in Asgard, her very existence had been a constant source of entertainment for those of noble birth. With her actions constantly scrutinized, the realm had been in uproar when she joined Asgard's military. Possibly even more uproarious was the very public, vocal support given by her brother Heimdall, a preeminent sorcerer for the Royal Family.

Jane really only knew what she'd heard during conversations at parties, and when she heard many of the same insults tossed at Sif about her burgeoning military career that Jane had had hurled her way in her education, she felt a sort of kinship form with the other woman.

"Lieutenants," Sif commanded, and many of the group snapped immediately to attention, "Leave us."

"Yes, ma'am," they responded in unison. Nine of those individuals flooded out of the war room, leaving one man and two women in addition to the Commander.

"Thor," Sif greeted, fisting a hand over her heart. Her tone was a sharp contrast to the one she'd just used. This was friendly and warm, and Thor returned her greeting in kind.

"Sif."

She walked out from behind the large table, giving the Raven a look at her armor. She was of the house of Rig, and the dark maroon color of the house embellished her stylized silver armor. Her skill with the double sided sword was legendary, and the famed weapon was sheathed behind her back. The second blade was hidden away, and Jane was curious about how she'd constructed such a weapon. Her Odinson red was woven into the gauntlet on her left hand. "And you must be the Raven."

"I am," she answered.

Sif hummed in acknowledgement. "Your reputation precedes you. And as much as I'd like to discuss that reputation at length, you must share with us the message you have." Sif retreated back behind the table, inviting she and Thor to join them. "The four rebel leaders here are Fandral, former Lieutenant for the King's Army," Sif pointed to a man with copper hair, pale skin, and a leery grin. His armor was embellished with fur and velvet, his red in the form of a cuff on his bicep.

"Fandral the Dashing, if you will," he added, and Jane did not miss the salacious wink he threw in her direction. Something that made her feel silly and warm when Thor did it made her rather annoyed when it came from Fandral.

Regardless, Jane nodded to him and followed Sif's next introduction, "Next to him is Hoder Vilidottir, political scholar and warfare strategist." The woman in question was not nearly as armored as Sif. She wore mail, but over that her breastplate and gauntlets were leather, decorated not with the royal blue of the house of Vili but with only a red cloth around her wrist. She had warm, sepia brown skin, and her infamous corkscrew curls were tamed into tight rows of braids against her scalp. The rest of her hair was contained in a plait down her back. Hoder favored her with a welcoming smile, one that started to set her at ease.

"And this is Sigyn Fidel of the First River Clan, former Alfheim ambassador to Asgard." Of the small gathering of people, Sigyn looked the youngest. All she wore were training leathers, and unlike her companions at the table, she didn't appear armed. Her red was woven into the belt at her waist. She had light russet skin, and eyes so dark her pupil was nearly lost. Though she appeared the youngest, her eyes were the most haunted. Perhaps she wasn't as adept at hiding it yet. She wore her dark brown hair loose, spilling over her shoulders.

"Before we discuss Alflyse," Sif said to Thor before turning to Jane, "What was it that Hawkeye was so determined for us to hear?"

Jane noted carefully how Fandral's face quickly fell to a deep scowl. "Why should we care about anything that traitor has to say?" he said. "As a matter of fact, where is our dear Hawkeye? Why did he not come to deliver this message himself?"

Whatever ease Hoder had managed to coax out of her was gone in an instant. She felt the eyes of everyone upon her, and despite the emotion rising in her throat, she managed to reply steadily, "He didn't make it through the First Equinox."

"What happened?" asked Sigyn, her gentle voice matching her physical demeanor.

She gritted her teeth. "Queen's Army ambush. He gave himself up so that I could run. Even if he managed to survive, he wouldn't—" She cut herself off with a heavy swallow. "He never would have let himself be taken alive."

A silence fell over the gathering. Beside her, she could practically feel Thor's tension from his place beside her. If she met his eyes, she had a feeling she'd see far more sympathy there than she deserved. Her eyes returned to Sif instead. "We will have our time and place to mourn him," she said.

Fandral scoffed, and Hoder cuffed him _hard_ on the back of the head. "We must focus on what he left behind for us," she insisted. "He would've wanted it that way."

"Hoder is correct. Raven," Sif said, "You have the floor."

This was easy. This was what her mission was since the day they made the discovery. "We managed to uncover that Hela has been making secret trips to Muspelheim, and she has been meeting directly with Surtur."

Sigyn was the only one who audibly gasped, but from the expressions of the faces of the rest of them, they all had been close to it.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Fandral. "If what you say is true, then the Rebellion is doomed—"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Hoder snapped sharply. "Muspelheim has been a neutral power for hundreds of years. Why would they change now?"

"Yes, I am sure," Jane cut in, answering Fandral's query. "We saw her party riding into Muspelheim ourselves."

"Then how do you know she was meeting with Surtur? No world leader has seen him in generations. It's rare that they let an outsider through their borders, let alone hold several political meetings within them. The Synod has always extended political curtesy in his stead," Sigyn said, "but they refuse to participate in Yggdrasil's politics."

"We had a source on the inside," Jane answered smoothly, refusing to fidget under their intense scrutiny.

Fandral scoffed again. "A _source?_ How utterly convenient." Jane felt anger rising up in her and clenched her jaw to hold back the raging words that were sure to come out as he continued, "How can we trust a single word coming out of her mouth? Perhaps the taint of Natasha Romanoff extended further than we—"

"Do not speak of her like that," Thor snapped, finally breaking his silence. "We do not know the full story of why she did what she did. I'd prefer not to speculate and invent a verdict she did not deserve." Fandral looked suitably chastened, though it didn't brighten his countenance. He looked like he was about to respond, but wisely closed his mouth. Thor leaned forward onto the table, resting his weight into his arms. "We are going to operate under the assumption that the Raven's intelligence is good."

Hoder copied her cousin's stance against the table. "Okay, how many times has Hela met with Surtur?"

"As far as we know," Jane answered, "Hela met with the Synod twice before she was granted permission to meet with him. She's only talked to Surtur once, and that was six months ago."

"Six months ago," Sigyn murmured in contemplation. "Sif, do we have the Queen's Army Census Record from last year? Around the time when she would've been meeting with Surtur."

Wordlessly, Sif combed through the maps and documents in front of her until she found what she was looking for and slid it over to Sigyn. "What are you thinking?"

Sigyn took the document, her eyes scanning over it as she spoke, "It's something I remember... A while back, there was a sudden swell in the number of soldiers being impressed into military service, and we couldn't figure out why—here it is," she interrupted herself, placing the document back down on the table, tapping a section with her pointer finger. "The increase in numbers started taking place seven months ago. It increased exponentially five months ago."

"So she bolsters her military force after she made an alliance with one of the most powerful races in the realms?" Fandral wondered.

"If that was indeed what she was there to do," Hoder suggested. "Look, this information will help us, but only to a certain extent. We don't know whether Hela was looking for military backing, or a financial ally, or any number of possibilities. We need to know what went on in that meeting. Raven," she asked, "do you still have connections with your contact?"

"It was Hawkeye's contact, not mine. And they knew me, but I would need to be inside Muspelheim to get word to them. That is, if they're even still alive."

All eyes in the room turned to Sif. She wore a look of dejected contemplation. "We are stuck between a rock and a hard place. We don't send you in, we blunder around in the dark. We do, we risk sparking a conflict with one of the world's most powerful realms, one that hasn't fought a war in thousands of years."

"Sif is right," Thor admitted, the entire table turning towards him. "It's high risk whichever course we decide."

Jane took a deep breath before offering, "There may be high risk, but I might be able to get us the possibility of a high reward should we try to get into Muspelheim."

Thor looked intrigued. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I have this friend. Well," she amended, "more of an acquaintance. His name is Bruce Banner, and if I'm right..." She took another cleansing breath. "He could get us a meeting with Surtur."

**Then**

Cynicism was never one of Jane Foster's primary personality traits, but a month on the run from the Queen's Army and constant fear of being spotted by a Queensagent who may recognize her face had done much to change her. She was in the southern, sparsely populated regions of Midgard. She'd tried to cross the border like Ian had told her to do, if tried could be defined as riding to the border, realizing just how many patrols there were, and turning back around.

She'd had to sell Toivo a week and a half ago because she needed the money to buy food. Turns out, she was pretty bad at this whole "being on the run" thing. She'd rationed her food as well as she could, but the simple fact was that she didn't have enough of it. She didn't dare try to get a job or do something to get money lest someone recognize her face as one of the many faces that hung on the Wanted By The Queen posters.

The first one she'd seen had been on the Waiting List in Mexico City and had sent her into a panic that had her fleeing the city before she could even think about trading for or buying some supplies. It was like something she'd read in those fairy tales when she was a kid—the face of the evil villain that the hero would study for hours on end until they brought the evil-doer to justice. She remembered sitting in her mother's lap, hearing her read the hero's tale in a gentle, soothing voice that eased her into sleep.

She winced just thinking about it.

Her feet were raw and blistered from having to walk in shoes fit more for riding than anything else, and the pack she carried was getting too light. Too light in money, (she hadn't gotten nearly as much for Toivo as she should have. She'd just been desperate, and it showed. When the smarmy tradesman had made her an offer, she'd immediately taken it, using the money to buy herself a warm meal and a bed for the first time in weeks.), in food, in supplies.

She sat down a little ways from the bustling marketplace. It was summer, and though it was only the beginning of the growing season, many of the stands were already bursting with fresh fruits and vegetables. It was a splash of vibrant color, greens, reds, purples, oranges, against the monotonous dirt and wood of the town.

She couldn't take her eyes off of it, all that beautiful food... Her stomach growled loudly. She twisted her hands into her cloak, hoping that the hunger pangs would pass.

That was when her eye caught something—a teenaged boy, no older than fifteen, slipped past a fruit stand, sliding some apples into his pocket. He was a good thief, his sleight of hand almost invisible, his posture completely at ease. It all seemed to be going off without a hitch; she was happy for this street boy. He would have food tonight. Maybe he had siblings, she guessed, and perhaps that's why he took so many apples. She liked the novelty of the thought.

Until it started to go wrong.

His coat pocket ripped, sending half of the apples tumbling visibly into the street. The bright red now made Jane's stomach invert as the street boy's face dropped, his body tensing to run.

"Thief!" the stand owner shouted. "Someone stop him!"

It was happening so fast, one second the boy looked like he was going to run, and the next, Hela's knights were swarming, four, five, six of them converging upon the skinny, hungry child.

"What have we here? A thief, you say?" asked one of them.

They searched the rest of is pockets at the owner's prompting, finding the rest of the stolen apples. "Come on, street rat scum," one said as the forced his arms behind his back.

Jane's hands started to tremble as he stumbled with their pace.

"Keep up, boy." He was yanked harshly to his feet.

There was red creeping in on her vision. Her fists clenched, knuckles white and nails biting crescents into her skin. Jane stood and followed.

The dragged him into an alley. Jane hid herself behind a wall of a building, but still peeked around the corner. The knights had shoved the kid against the building, surrounding him inescapably. "I'll pay for the apples. Please, just let me go."

"Then why didn't you pay in the first place, thief?"

"Do you know how they used to punish thieves? They'd cut off their hands so they could never steal again," one of them said. He drew his shortsword, running the tip of it threateningly across one of the boy's wrists. "What do you think? Would you steal again if we chopped off these hands?"

Jane could see the boy trying to be brave, but his eyes screamed fear as he jerked his hand away from the blade. "I won't steal anymore, I swear. I'll leave town, I'll do anything, please, just don't—" One of the knights punched him in the stomach. They _laughed_ as he doubled over with a pained, terrified sob.

There was the red, her hands ceasing their trembling as they ran on pure _rage._ She drew her bow and arrow from beneath her cloak faster than she knew she was capable.

She loosed an arrow into the hand that held the shortsword. The owner of the hand screamed, his sword dropping to the ground, and the knights turned on her.

"Leave. Him. Alone," she commanded.

"You fucking whore!" cried the one whose hand she'd shot.

"This fucking whore," she spat as she nocked another arrow, "will take all of you down if you lay another hand on him."

They weren't intimidated. Her adrenaline surged as three of them charged, two staying behind to hold the boy. She fired her next arrow into a leg, felling one of the men. She'd barely nocked her second arrow when they were upon her. Their hands were strong as they wrenched at her arms.

She managed to let off the arrow into one of their feet, but she knew it was a losing battle.

She growled in rage as the last of the three peeled her fingers off her bow, and it fell to the ground. She writhed her body hard, raged cries slipping from between her teeth as he dragged her back to where the other two stood, holding the boy who was looking at her with wide, awed eyes.

She nearly managed to free herself from the knight's grip when she threw her head backwards, connecting solidly with his nose by complete accident. The impact probably hurt her as much as it had hurt him, but she wasn't going to take it for granted. She turned back for her weapon, her quiver still strung at her hip, but her hands were caught again and she was plowed backwards into the building wall, mere feet from the kid who she'd been trying to save.

Her vision was filled with the face of a knight whose nose was beginning to bleed. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded, speckles of blood and spit flying from his mouth in his vehemence. "I should kill you for that. Or maybe I can let my men go a few rounds with you first," he hissed then. "It's been so long since they've had a woman. You're a pretty thing, too." He ran a sickening finger down her cheek, down her neck.

Her rage was dying fast, being replaced by fear, but not so much that she couldn't protest. She bucked again, straining against the hold he had on her. She cried out as he grabbed her hair, pulling on it to make her look up.

He was about to say something else, she was sure, but with her chin forced into the air, she watched as a figure dropped from the roof.

She barely saw what he did. This figure was a human, a man, and he moved like some sort of whirlwind. He took out the knight holding her first, a flurry of fists and well placed hits, and while she didn't register much, she heard the sickly snap of neckbones as he felled each opponent.

The first thing she heard him say was, "You don't get to leave." She saw to what he was referring. The three she'd managed to injure had tried to beat a hasty retreat out of the alley.

They were all dead within the minute, arrows through the eyes. Wait, arrows? She noticed then a quiver on his back, a collapsed recurve bow attached to it. Her plucked her arrows out of the bodies, bringing them back over to where she and the boy stood stock still against the building.

When he made his way back over to them, he met the eyes of the street boy first. "What's your name, kid?"

"P-Peter," he stammered. "My name is Peter."

With his hands covered in blood, their impromptu savior didn't lack any intimidation when he said, "Run," pointing to the mouth of the alley.

The boy, Peter, met her eyes, a question there. It was a question she didn't much care to answer right now, so she nodded. "Go. I'll be all right."

With one last, lingering look, he turned and sprinted away.

"Fancy shooting," he said then to her as the last of her adrenaline faded away, replacing the rage with nothing but empty shaking. He held her arrows out to her. "What's your name?"

She took them with shaking hands, struggling to replace them in her quiver for a moment before she succeeded. She buried her hands in the folds of her cloak. "Jane. Jane Foster."

He rolled his eyes. "No wonder you got caught, giving out your name to random strangers like that. You really need to pick a new one."

His levity was a surprise, and a confusing one at that. "Wait, that doesn't... How do you know that's my name?"

"I noticed your face made it's debut on the Waiting List. Congrats, it's not often I see another fellow murderer on there." He said it so callously, like it was a joke, and she nearly choked. She tried to quell the shaking of her hands to no avail.

He must've noticed her discomfort because he quickly said, "Oh, hey, I mean, I'm not like ' _murderer_ murderer,' but more like 'freedom fighter.' I swear, I don't just run around killing innocent people."

She didn't dare cast a look at the soldiers dead on the ground, or she'd lose whatever her stomach had left in it. "They may have had families. You do not know anything about them."

His stare was unforgiving. "It gets to a point when ' _I was just following orders_ ' only defends so much." He nearly laughs, face tipped towards the sky. "I can't _believe_ you're defending them. You saw what they were going to do to that kid, let alone what they threatened to do to you."

He made a good point, but she wouldn't let him know that. "Look, thanks for... for doing that. But I need to be going."

The man whose name she still didn't know looked over at the bodies of the soldiers. "Ugh, yeah, we do. They have a superior officer in this town who will definitely be waiting for a check-in." Another disgruntled sound. "Not feeling body disposal today."

"No," Jane insisted, finally catching up with his words, "No, there's no _we_ here. I'm going to leave, and that's that." She determinedly turned on a heel and set off for the road, only pausing long enough to pick up her bow. To her dismay, the man jogged up beside her. She nearly stopped to yell at him, but she decided that maybe ignoring him would be her best bet.

He rolled his eyes, "So, what, you can keep struggling from town to town, no money, and no proper survival skills?" She couldn't deny his observation, but she was _ignoring him._ "Okay, here's why you should listen to me," he said before walking out in front of her and walking backwards as he spoke, "I saw the details on your wanted poster. Obstruction of justice. Murder of a Queen's Army officer. Evading the Queen's justice, and so on. I don't need to tell you what's on your sheet, I'm sure.

"So my thinking goes like this: something bad goes down where you were from. You try to stand up to them, things get out of hand, maybe you pull out that bow I saw you shooting with earlier and this time you shoot to kill. See, if you weren't ready and willing to defy the Queen, why would you run? Why would you even fight back in the first place? You're obviously a noble judging by your horrendous lack of rationing skills and the way you talk; you'd probably have been able to get off after some very sincere apologies and possibly arguing a temporary loss of sanity like most high-borns. I guarantee you, most nobles in your position would be using every last favor they were owed to clean up their mess so they could come out the other side still in the lap of luxury. Not many of them would even _consider_ running."

He stops, nearly causing her to run into him. "So why didn't you stay?" he inquired, eyes piercing. "Why did you run?"

She hadn't been planning on answering him, but the words tumbled out anyway. "Because I just killed a man and not everything is that _simple._ " Did he think life as a high-born was a walk in the park? Because it _wasn't_ she remembered with short breath, _lacing corsets_ and _Donald won't like that_ and _you should be grateful_. Then she remembers her mother shielding her body with her own and telling her to _run._ "I had a good life," she told him through gritted teeth, and felt herself slipping into the Lowtown vernacular as she was wont to do when she was this angry. "Better than this one. I had food, a home, a family. Now that's all gone. Do you think I want to be here? Fucking covered in grime, with barely any food or water. My feet fucking _hurt_ because I was Goddamned stupid enough to think the riding boots would be enough. It's not—I didn't choose anything. It's not that _fucking_ simple."

Why she wasn't just walking around him she didn't know, but her feet were rooted to the spot, her eyes fixated on his. "Oh, but Jane Foster, it really is that simple. You'll find that in the face of a crisis, your true self will emerge. When running isn't an option, there are two kinds of fighters—underhanded schemers and straight-up fighters. People like us," he said, leaning closer, "we're the real fighters."

"I need... I need to go," she insisted, yet she made no moves to do. "And you don't know anything about me.

"What was it that they did to you that made you snap? What was it?"

"I don't even know your name, there's no way I'm—"

"Hawkeye," he interrupted. "I'm Hawkeye."

She snorted and asked dubiously, "I'm supposed to believe that's your name."

"No," he answered succinctly, "You're not supposed to believe that. There's a reason they don't have an actual name on my poster, you know."

"Oh."

"Yeah. See what I mean?"

There was a long pause, his gaze pinning her like a butterfly to a board. "My—" she breathed deeply, briefly wondering why she was entertaining the notion of telling this man, _Hawkeye_ , her story. He was a self-admitted murderer for God's sake! But really, so was she. How she kept forgetting that detail when the nightmares shook her violently from sleep every night she didn't know. "My father. They came for my father. He'd just gotten back from a lecture circuit, a long one. They just—seven people in the Lowtown had already disappeared, and they just came in the middle of the night and started dragging him out of the house. He didn't even do anything, and I just... I lost it. I had a dagger, Jotun-made so it was sharp as hell, and I—" Her hands were shaking badly now, and Hawkeye had definitely noticed, his eyes regarding her carefully. "My mom told me to run. She stayed and I just..." _Left her there._

He seemed to briefly contemplate something before he spoke again. "Jane, I'm going to tell you something. Just like you fought for your father, well that's how I'm fighting for my wife." His voice softened. "Sharper than a spinning needle, Natasha. Has this red hair... Dangerous, too. More than me, for sure. She is so damn good at what she does." He hardened again, "I need answers. And quite honestly, I'm willing to do anything to get them. I don't know if this is going to be a rescue mission or a vengeance warpath, but either way, I'm seeing it to the end. If I weaken Hela's hold on the realms in the process, all the better."

As she listened to him speak, she felt her hands stabilize, and a fierce ardor grow in her heart. She _did_ want answers, but more than that, she wanted _justice_. She didn't know what that justice would look like, didn't know if it would come at the edge of a blade or the strike of a gavel. All she knew was that she wanted it with every fiber of her being. Her mother, harsh and unforgiving but strong and courageous. Her father who always loved her from afar but always gifted her with the biggest smiles. For Darcy, her sister in everything but blood, and Ian who'd become a brother she'd never known she'd ever need. For everyone in the Lowtown who'd disappeared, for Khal and the other six, for everyone she didn't know about who'd suffered under Hela's iron fist.

In her month on her own, there was a gaping wound in her heart that she hadn't realized was there until now, hadn't realized that her aimless wandering hadn't been all that aimless. She was always aiming for something, she just hadn't known it yet.

Now she knew.

Hawkeye said, "I see that look in your eye. I know what you're going to say. Right in this moment, I'm sure you believe it yourself. But this isn't an easy life. You think what you've been through is hard?" he asked harshly. "It's nothing compared to what you will go through if you want to be on this path with me. It's a bloody path. Those bodies that you couldn't look at earlier will become a part of your life, a part of you." He finally took several large steps away from her, snapping the intimate spell they'd been under. "I'll be in the Hog's Eye tavern on the edge of town. Do you know it?" She nodded wordlessly. "I'll be there until the end of the day. The moment that sun is gone from the sky, I leave. If you decide you want to come, meet me there and introduce yourself." With that, he spun and left her reeling.

She knew the tavern he spoke of, a ramshackle little place on the main road into town; the small two-story invited a lot of weary travelers inside for drinks and debauchery (if the fancy ladies entering the establishment were anything to go by).

 _Introduce yourself._ Right. The name.

She walked in the opposite direction, planning on gathering her thoughts, but her mind was refusing to move. It was stuck on a single thought. Justice. _This isn't me_ , she kept trying to tell herself. She was of noble birth, an educated woman. She's rubbed elbows with Asgard's mightiest, and she didn't hurt people. She—

She was confronted then by the Waiting List. Her walking had led her to the center of the town, where it was customary to post the board. It was a colloquial name, one she heard even before she left New York. It was the board upon which all the Wanted posters were pinned up for all to see. It was called the Waiting List because to most, it was simply a list of people waiting to be captured and put to death. (She imagined that those who came up with the name were loyal to Hela.)

In this tiny town, there were relatively few posters. Unconciously, she stepped closer, examining the faces. (Looking for one.)

She found it at the top of the board, where only the most heinous of criminals found their faces.

Hawkeye was written across it, but in quotations. _Suspected alias,_ it read. No shit. Then there was a vague sketch, one that could easily be ascribed to any male human, but if she focused, she could see Hawkeye's face within the generic nose, average chin, and unremarkable eyes.

Beneath were his crimes. She sucked in a breath when she saw how numerous they were.

_High Treason_

_Conspiracy_

_Conspiracy against the Royal Family_

_Murder (numerous counts)_

_Murder of Queen's Army Officers (numerous counts)_

_Association with the following fugitives: Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanova, Sif Valdottir, and others_

_Association with individual convicted of High Treason (numerous counts)_

_Association with the Rebellion_

They continued on, condemning him for everything from thievery to bribing to tax evasion, but her gaze remained fixed on the last mark.

The Rebellion.

She saw her mother, _What are his charges?_ and then she saw her father, doubling over in pain as the guard punched him in the stomach. She knew what they did to traitors. God, she didn't even know if they were dead or alive.

Her want for justice was rudderless, directionless, just sheer anger burning low in her gut, sizzling through her muscles and into her fists.

Perhaps this would give it direction.

She turned towards the tavern, but stopped when she caught sight of her own poster.

_Murder of a Queen's Army Officer_

_Obstruction of the Queen's Justice_

_Evading the Queen's Justice_

_Association with individual convicted of High Treason_

The anger flared, hot and dark, and with an enraged growl, her hand reached up and ripped her poster down.

* * *

As she walked to the tavern, the sun still high in the sky, she thought about what Hawkeye had said about a name. A new one. One that didn't carry with it the old shackles (the old memories, the regrets) of Jane Foster.

It was a seemingly simple task. A name.

As she walked, she came across a small flock of doves gathering around a small horse pen. They pecked at the earth, trying to scrounge up whatever leftover grain the horse had left for them. When she was still several meters away, they all jerked to attention as if of one mind and took off, their pure white wings beating the air.

She thought of his alias—Hawkeye. One short, simple word. _Dove_ , she thought quietly. _That could work._ They were certainly a beautiful bunch. Their white feathers were pristine, unblemished. They flew in perfect synchronicity and cooperation as they took to the sky.

The flock was interrupted moments after they took off by a raven. The huge, black bird dove through the center, and she heard a pained screech. The raven emerged moments later with a dove in its talons.

It flew down to the ground moments later, the bloody dove still in its clutches. It wasn't dead yet. It still twitched, giving feeble cries as the flock fled.

The raven though... the raven simply stared at her. Its eyes were inquisitive, deeply intelligent. It looked at her as if it were challenging her.

A feeling of unease settled into her, followed by acceptance.

She wasn't a dove anymore.

She was the Raven.

 


End file.
